Roulette
by mintjellyfish
Summary: "Act like I've already won, like I'm the victor. Tears are sorry excuses for motivation." Even before he entered the Arena, he was a fighter. What became of the 61st Hunger Games.
1. From the Comfort of My Seat

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. This is for personal enjoyment.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: From the Comfort of My Seat<strong>

_During the 60__th__ Hunger Games_

"I can't watch anymore!" My sister, Jacinta, yelps as she breastfeeds her twin boys. She shuts her eyes from the scene unfolding on the television. Seconds later, they spring open, glued right back on the Games.

Jade screams in agony as her District One partner, Levi, grabs her ponytail and rips her entire scalp off with his bare hands. Effortless. I'm impressed.

"I'm tired of you whipping your damn hair all the time," he growls. Everyone laughs. It's true; whenever Jade wants to make a point or show her dominance, she whips that black mane of hers back. It's her signature. Guess she better find another one.

Jade stumbles to the ground, wiggling like the chickens do after they're beheaded.

It's down to the final two. It was a short Hunger Games this year; the Careers had annihilated the other tributes within the first three days. A new record. And it didn't take long for the Career pack to be broken. A jab from the District 4 guy had initiated things. It had been a bloody showdown, but only the District One tributes remained.

The whole Town Building erupts in joyful chaos as Levi limps towards his former partner. Jade lays motionless in a bloody puddle, but no cannon sounds off.

"Kill that bitch!" an old man shoots out of his chair, spitting all over me.

"That's right Levi! Show her who's boss!" a little girl giggles.

"At least have mercy and end this quickly Levi! Please!" a woman shouts from the back, tears flowing from her eyes.

"Oh man, this is it!" Ivan squeezes my arm. His fingernails drive deeper into me by the second.

I take a long swish of goat milk and give him a playful hook to the chin. "Let's not have a mock Hunger Games, _hermano_."

Excitement floods my veins as I wait in anticipation for the next piece of action. Levi is a giant. Muscles bulges from every part of his body. The Career fight left him badly bruised and a gash he received from the District Two boy dyed the right side of his jumpsuit a deep red color. He only seems mildly affected.

I did not feel sorry for Jade. She's far from innocent. The ruthless girl had sliced through 5 tributes with her deadly sword, two of them the tributes from my district. Everyone here hates her. We want her dead. Now.

A look of-Was it satisfaction? Relief?-forms on the giant's face as he closes the gap between each other. He's bound to win now. Either he'll kill Jade or she'll die from the loss of blood gushing from her head wound.

As he starts to move in, readying his mace, something happens.

_WHOOSH!_

A spear shoots through the trees at lightning speed. Levi turns around in time for it to hit him straight in the chest.

Gasps of total shock echoes throughout the gigantic hall.

"A trap! A trap!" I scream at Ivan. This time I claw away at his arm. He gives me a look.

At the beginning of the Games, a sneaky District Eight girl had set up various traps around the swampy arena. She's long dead now, but her traps still remain. And fatally forgotten.

Levi stumbles back, astonishment now plastered on his face. Foolishly, he tries to pull the weapon out of his chest. Only blood flows out. Attempting to scream, he utters a low, animalistic sound of despair.

"Sounds like one of my cows when I brand them," Ivan chuckles, gnawing at some beef jerky.

"Give me some of that." I grab it from his hand and rip the tough meat with my teeth.

The giant falls to the ground, his eyes and mouth wide open. The cannon sounds off. Hovercrafts are already taking both tributes away before Claudius Templesmith can shout Jade has won

A bread roll hit the screen.

"I can't believe that snake won!" A deep voice in the back shouts.

"You better hold me back when she comes here for her Victory Tour!" the same old man from behind me spits, literally.

Fed up, I turn around. "What are you going to do? Drown her in your spit?" That shuts him up. He quickly sit down as everyone buckles over in laughter.

Since the Games are over, drones of people head out of the Town Building. I gather with my brothers and sisters as we squeezed out of the large hall where the screens played the Games.

The night air feels wonderful compared to the stifling heat produced by all the crammed, musty bodies in the Town Building. Walking out into the streets, the Town Square bustles with life. This late in the night, people would be in their homes trying to get enough sleep to wake up early for the animals. The Hunger Games had set off a firecracker. Excited chatter about what just unfolded minutes ago, children reenacting fight scenes, gossipers spreading rumors. Even the usually stoic Peacekeepers seemed to be showing an ounce of excitement. The verve of the Games had given breath to the usually dead Town Square.

We jump on top of our horses (we're of the few families in District Ten who can afford our own transportation) and ride our way back to the south village. With Ivan saddled behind me, I let loose my ponytail, hair flipping in the wind. A few minutes into the ride, I feel hands tugging at it, prompting me to turn around in confusion.

"The hair, Giovanni."

I stick my tongue out. "Deal, woman." He could be so whiny sometimes.

The south village is the closest to the Town Square and being on horseback, the ride is quite short. Candlelight lights up each adobe, surrounding the neighborhood in a golden glow.

Here, the wealthiest of District Ten stay. Contrasting with the bland, featureless adobes in the three other villages, ours are more detailed, some painted different colors. Space is abundant since fewer people live here. More space not only gives way to bigger houses, but also means more land to graze which meant healthier livestock equaling to more profit. It may be crap compared to the wealthier districts, but this is high living in District Ten. My mother's beekeeping is what keeps my family afloat. Apparently, the Capitol has an addiction to honey because the demand for it is through the roof.

We reach my house. It's a modest, two-story adobe. It's big enough to raise all four of me and my siblings and house the neighbors that stop and stay daily.

Walking in, we're greeted to the sounds of crying. Lots of crying.

My nieces and nephews are all here. My brothers and sisters all have their own adobes and families, but it's just natural for them to come back home every now and then.

Viviana, my oldest niece, run to hug me. She shares the same look of most District Ten people: coffee brown hair, tan skin darkened by working in the sun all day, black eyes. She can barely contain her excitement as she asks about the Games, her pigtails bobbing up and down.

"Who won? Was it that District 2 girl? What was her name again? It was weird, like Cor-something. I don't know, but did she win?"

I give her a smile. "Are you done _chica_?"

"Yes, now tell me what happened!"

"Keep it down, you hooligans. I've been trying to put them asleep for the past hour!" My mother shushes us as she rocks one crying grandson and motions at the others in my sister's old bedroom. The little boy's tears keep rolling. "Baldomar, retrieve your hellspawn."

My oldest brother takes him in his arms. The cries stop immediately.

She shake her head, "Spoiled I say. When you all were children, I let you cry a river. Makes you stronger."

"And there will be no talking about those Games in this house." My father comes out of the kitchen, carrying a plate of something in one hand and a sleeping toddler in the other. I swipe a piece of food and bite in. Mmm, empanadas. And stuffed with horse.

Between bites, I speak. "Not even the part where Levi gets-"

"Giovanni!"

I swallow and give my most innocent smile. I bend down towards Viviana's ear, my voice barely above a rat's squeak. "Jade won."

Her eyebrows go up and her mouth forms a tiny O. "Not the evil girl! That's not fair! I'm gonna…put my tongue out at her when she comes!"

I chuckle. "You think a 7-year-old's tongue is gonna hurt a Hunger Games victor?"

"Uh huh!"

My parents glare at me. "Don't poison her mind with that violence," my mother tells me as she ushers Viviana to her mother.

They were never fans of The Hunger Games. They nicknamed it _El Diablo_. By law, everyone has to watch them. Peacekeepers give you a higher meat quota to fill if you refuse. A jar of the best honey we had will persuade the nicer Peacekeepers to overlook my parents breaking the rules.

My first Games was on my 8th birthday. I was horrified, had nightmares for weeks. Then, I got used to them and eventually fell in love. The thrill, the terror, the gore. It all satisfied my boyish instincts for violence from the comfort of my seat. I idolized the victors, even envied them a bit. One year when a District Four victor stopped here on his tour, I tried my hardest to turn a pitchfork into a trident and spent my entire allowance on gel to style my hair just like his. I failed miserably.

My father motions to the door. "Someone check the cow stables for manure."

"Not me, I'm watching Jorge." Baldomar looks up from his now sleeping son.

"The boys are fussy," Jacinta says from the guest room.

My other brother comes in covered in mud. Grabbing two empanadas, he goes to seat down before receiving my mother's look. "The pigs wore me out today. I'm not doing any more walking."

My father turns towards me. "Go clean the stables, _mijo_."

"Why me?"

"You're the youngest and everyone else is busy."

"And?"

"Giovanni!" Whenever my father shouts, that's it. There's no arguing about it.

"You're a pig yourself, you know." I scowl at my brother before walking out. "Come on Ivan."

"Those aren't my cows," he says while I drag him outside. We share an area with another neighbor for the animals we raise. I mainly care for the bulls and help out with the bees. After my siblings moved out and got their own livestock, I've had to watch over all four. The slight stench of cow dung waft through the air as we approach the stables.

"Here we go."

The cows had mercy on us today. Only a few had a couple of droppings. While making a pile to be shipped to District Eleven, I hear a faint noise behind me. I turn around and see it.

"Ivan, don't move."

"Huh?" He turns around and gasp, dropping his fork and almost jumping back but knowing better.

A rattlesnake had camouflaged itself with the desert ground and slithered its way towards Ivan. It's a big one and did not look very happy.

Grabbing at my pitchfork, I make my way to the reptile inch by inch. Snakes are commonplace here. Their poison is the leading cause of death in District Ten since medicine included herbs, oils, charms and hope. The snake is too preoccupied with Ivan to notice that I've tiptoed behind. It readies itself to strike Ivan, its body moving back to attack.

Ivan whispers pleadingly, "Kill it Giovanni! Now!"

"I'm trying! Calm down!" I whisper back, irritancy growing in my voice. "I'm in as much danger as you are. It can easily strike me too!" Sweat pours down my forehead and covers my armpits, either from the heat in the stable or the now deadly situation we're in.

Suddenly, the rattlesnake hisses and launches itself. Ivan shrieks as the fork reaches its neck just centimeters away from his leg. Letting out an angry hiss, it hits the ground. I stab repeatedly until I feel confident it's dead. A snake's will to live is incredible.

We stand motionless for a moment, breathing heavily. Ivan breaks the silence. "Thanks, _hermano_."

"I can't have you dying on me, Ivan. You're like family." I nod and give him a smile. Then we laugh for a bit, out of nervousness of the whole situation. My best friend was almost taken out!

"Let's get the hell out of here." We run full speed to my house, not even bothering to wash up.

"Papi, you almost killed us." I say accusingly when we run inside. It's much quieter now. Only my parents sit in the living area, playing cards.

My mother looks up from the game, confused. "What are you going on about, _mijo_?"

"A rattlesnake nearly attacked me and Ivan." I put an emphasis on the 'and'. "Try explaining that one to Senor and Senora Castillo."

"You all are strong men. You both can handle yourselves." My father casually shuffles the cards.

"You know, I should receive no chores for the entire week to recover from this awful mental distress." I give them a wink as I sit down.

"No Giovanni," they speak in unison.

"In his defense, he not only spotted it first, but he killed it right before it got me. He deserves some reward, Senor and Senora Del Rojo," Ivan speak. I swear my parents listen to him more than me.

My father huffs. "Fine, fine. You're free from cleaning the stables for a week."

"Make that two weeks."

"Don't push it, Giovanni." Getting up, he gives a heavy yawn. "We're off to bed. You too, _mijo_. The cows will need milking in the morning."

I frown." I thought you said I was free?"

"Free from cleaning, not free from working altogether. We did not raise our children to be lazy." Smiling, he bids us goodnight and walks to the room.

My mother give us a kiss. "_Buenos noches_ boys. And Ivan, tell your mother thanks again for the flour. I was not going to pay 7 tokens for a bag at the shop."

"I will." He nods and yawns too. "I should leave. It's pretty late and it's my turn to milk the goats tomorrow." We walk out into the night, not before checking to see any snakes slithering around. Ivan lives just a few adobes away, so the distance isn't too bad.

"Hey, did you finish that assignment we had in History of Panem?" he says as we arrive at his place. His adobe is much smaller, as it's just his parents and younger brother living with him.

"What do you think?"

"Me neither."

"Why worry about school when The Hunger Games is going on?" I roll my eyes at the very thought of school. Not like I cared about it any other time of the year. What's the point? My life is pretty much set out for me; I will raise animals for the rest of my life. There are no other options in District Ten. Knowing how Panem formed and what some dead guy in a wig thought will never save my life.

"True, true. _Buenos noches_ Giovanni. See you tomorrow." We give each other a peck on both cheeks, a District Ten sign of friendship, and I head back.

It has gotten cooler now, or rather cool for District Ten standards. I adjust my tunic but to no luck. The majority of candles are blown out in the village as only the moon provides light. From a distance, the Town Square is dark and empty as well and the animals are all asleep. It's quiet now; only the hissing of faraway snakes and running water made any sort of noise. Spotting a deer drinking from a stream, I take this time to break the silence and send punches and kicks its way.

"Take that Jade! And that!" I shout, hitting the air. The deer looks for a bit then continues drinking.

* * *

><p>I can't move. I'm pinned down in the grass. My head feels like it weighs a ton. Birds chirp madly as the wind blows at hurricane speeds.<p>

_What is going on?_ I think. The sun is too bright, making my headache worse. Something blocks the light. I look up to see Jade on top of me, smiling manically. Blood trickles from her scalpless head and drips into my mouth. She holds up a machete.

"A little over the top!" she screams as she drives the machete to my forehead.

"I didn't mean to kick you!" I jump up shouting, swinging punches in the air. I look around: no Jade in sight. Whew, that was only a dream.

When I fall back asleep, I have another one where me and Jade are trying on Capital wigs.


	2. Don't Worry

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading my fanfic! Any comments, compliments, complaints, concerns, critiques would be gladly appreciated.**

_One year later_

I tap my feet impatiently. I've been in this line for way too long. The servers, an old couple, are moving at a snail's pace.

"Could you guys move a little faster?" I shout from the back of the line. By the time I'll get up there, all of the lamb will be gone.

Cutting the line results in being banned, so that's out of the question. I spot Ivan further up. Perfect. Brushing pass the horde of people and ignoring the yells, I make it to Ivan just in time for the old woman to drop a juicy piece on his plate.

"What are you doing?" A Peacekeeper who's behind him asks, looking more at the lamb than at me.

Uh oh, busted. "I'm trying to tell my friend something, miss. I apologize."

"Make it quick or you'll hold up the lamb, I mean, line." For a brief second, I can see the embarrassment on her face. She quickly regains her professionalism, turning her face back into their usual stone expression.

Ivan smirks, "You want me to get you some don't you?" The old lady smiles and puts an extra slab of meat on his plate.

"You know me better than anyone else," I wink at him. "And you know I hate waiting."

Every year before Reaping Day, we have _Dia de la Comunidad_ or Community Day. It's been tradition for as long as I can remember. Everyone comes together to cook throughout the day and have a feast at night. District Ten is one of the larger districts, so each village celebrates it separately. Our victors make an appearance in each one of them to stop and chat and also give encouraging advice to kids of reaping age. They're always off visiting the Capitol, so it's exciting to see them interact with us for once.

For once, the usual stench of animals is replaced by the pleasant scents of food. People plan and save all year for Community Day. Today would be more than what most families eat in a week. When this may be your last meal with your family, you have every right to gorge yourself.

Foods of all type are on display. Some common, some exotic, some cheap, some expensive. My parents have their hands full as people swarm their booth. We've served honey on Community Day since I was little. The fact that honey is the only form of sweetener we have in Ten and we're one of the five families that produce it means we have a steady supply of customers year-round.

Besides Reaping Day, today's the only time we get off from school. I spent all that free time building the booth and helping set up. And slacking off with Ivan whenever my parents weren't looking.

I sneak behind the booth and drizzle honey on my food and a little in my goat milk. "Need any help?"

"No, no Giovanni. You'll be in the way," my mother tells me as I'm shooed off. When it comes to Community Day, they're all business. They've never let me or my siblings help them serve. The thought of standing at a booth for hours isn't too appealing, so I never complain.

I go look to find Ivan. He's sitting with his family a few benches away. I let them have their time together and I find my brothers and sister sitting down. The long bench is packed with people eating, chatting, and laughing. A bench for the victors sits empty in the middle. They're too busy being swamped by excited fans.

Everyone always manages to be cheerful on this day. Ten is a friendly place to begin with, but everyone's like family on Community Day. We share food, conversate, watch over each other's children. Even the Peacekeepers act human. Being anything else would make the realization that someone's gonna be reaped tomorrow realer than it already is.

"Eat some more vegetables, _chico_." A heavyset woman scraps some of her squash on my plate when she sees I have none. Her son steals a piece of cheese and giggles.

"Hey!" I smile, tickling him until he runs off into the crowd.

Before I can sink my teeth in that slice of ham calling my name, I hear a voice.

"Gio?" My fork drops. I know exactly who it is. Only she calls me by that name.

"What do you want?" I stay facing my food.

"Gio, look at me. Please." Desperation enters her voice. She's probably picking at her nails now. She always does this when she's nervous.

I twiddle a piece of bread in my fingers, trying to look uninterested in what she has to say. "Maya, I don't care about whatever you want. And I honestly don't care about you."

"Someone's a jilted lover," Baldomar snickers.

My sister eyes me. "Now Giovanni, that's no way to talk to a lady. Go and talk to her."

"She's no lady," I mutter.

"Giovanni, I will not have you disrespecting a woman in my presence," she says. Being the oldest of us, she often acts as Mami #2 whenever our parents aren't around. I roll my eyes and turn around.

Maya takes my breath away as always. She wears a simple shirt and shorts, but it doesn't hinder her beauty. Nothing ever could. Waves of jet black hair falls down to her shoulders, her bang almost covering up her light brown eyes. Her parents are well off enough so that she does little work in the sun, or little work for that matter. Her light skin and scarless body shows it. She's very popular in school, and among the boys.

Here she stands, looking at me with those eyes, those eyes that say: '_I'm innocent. Trust me. I could do no harm.'_ My girlfriend. My _ex-_girlfriend.

I turn my expression of wonder into feigned boredom. "Did you lose a sheep again?"

Maya might be one of the prettiest girls in Ten, but she was far from the smartest. How you could lose a sheep three times is beyond me.

"No, not this time. I really need to talk to you Gio."

I shoot her a look. "We were done talking when you broke up with me. Again."

She looks genuinely hurt. I don't understand why. She's the one that ended our relationship this time.

"You're the only one that understands me Gio. You know that." She grabs my hand and pulls me up from the bench. Her soft palm feels nice in my hand. I stay in place. "Come on, let's go somewhere."

"I don't wanna go," I say, but my feet move anyway. We make our way to where the horses are kept. I give her a quizzical look.

"Let's go for a ride, like old times." She jumps on top of Lolita, my horse, and positions for me to sit in front. I look around for any Peacekeepers. No one's allowed to leave the festival until it's over. It's pretty dark out now and they're too busy stuffing their faces to notice us sneaking off. I get up on the saddle and we ride off.

I guess my one true hobby would be horseback riding. It's so peaceful, riding through the wind, seeing everything go by in a blur. We don't have cars here and I never have a reason to get on the train by the Justice Building. This is the closest thing I'll get to speed.

I got into riding horses when I was 13. We used to raise them until they became too expensive to keep. I had an attachment to one in particular: black, thin but had a lot of energy. I named her Lolita. I never begged my father for something more in my life.

I was horrible at first. So much that my father wanted to take Lolita to the slaughterhouse with the rest of the horses. It took months for me to get better and my mother's convincing to finally let me keep her. She's my first and only pet. I was fine with her being my total responsibility.

We ride throughout the village in the thick night air. All the lights are situated in the front, where the festival is being held. I'm a social guy, but it's nice to have some peace and quiet for once. And having Maya behind me didn't hurt at all. She puts her arms around my waist and lays her head on my back as we slow down.

"Stop," I whisper. I make no effort to move her arms. I miss the contact. We're both quiet, enjoying each other's presence. Lolita's trots and neighs are the only sounds to be heard.

"I'm scared." I'm jolted by her voice and pulled back into reality.

"How's that Eddie guy doing?" I change the subject. Maya broke up with me three weeks ago to "sort things out". Sorting things out meant dating another guy two days after we're over. This wasn't the first time this has happened. If it wasn't obvious, Maya and I have a very rocky relationship. We've been dating for 7 months and broke up a total of five times. She's cheated, I've cheated. Neither of us is innocent, but she cheated first. Okay, maybe that doesn't justify my action, but still.

"Gio." I already know the disapproving look she's giving me, like I'm being insensitive. "Reaping's tomorrow."

"And?"

"We were chosen for the second reaping." Maya inhales. It's impossible to fit every child in the Town Square, so we have two reapings to make up for it. Hundreds of kids are chosen from each village's reaping to fill up the one that'll be broadcasted.

I shrug. "We've both been chosen before. What's the difference now?" I've been chosen three times for the real reaping. The first one was horrible. It was my first year and both Baldomar and I were chosen. My mother nearly fainted. Thankfully, a tall 16-year-old was reaped. He made it to the final 8.

"What if this year's different? What if we're chosen? We're 18 now. We have more slips." I feel her heartbeat quickening. She wraps her arms tighter around me.

"Maya, calm down. Freaking out isn't gonna lower your chances of being reaped." I don't know why she's so nervous. Both of our families were well-off enough to avoid tesserae. There's gonna be kids younger than us with twice the amount of slips.

I squeezed her hand. "If the impossible happens and one of us is chosen, then we'll have to accept it." That's my motto when it came to the Hunger Games. No amount of whining, complaining, or crying was going to make them put your slip back in and pull someone else. Being pessimistic makes your death come quicker. The woe-is-me tributes never last long.

"What if both of us are chosen?" she says. Lolita gives a heavy neigh.

"That won't happen." I won't allow myself to think of the possibility.

The festival's far behind us as we reach the outskirts of the village. We stop at a cactus bush blooming pink flowers. It's our spot, where we go every day after school. Or rather used to go. This is the first time I've come back since the breakup. I check for any rattlesnakes and other critters before I motion for Maya to sit down with me. We cuddle in the dark, the cactus pricking us in the back. I hesitate to put my arm around her until she puts it around her for me.

"What was it this time?" I ask, looking down at her. I brush a piece of hair out of her face. She's closed her eyes now, resting her head on my shoulder.

She doesn't have to ask what I'm talking about to know. "I don't know," she says sleepily. "Commitment scares me. I've told you this before. I don't like the thought of being tied down."

I tense up. "Saying 'tied down' makes it seem like you don't really like me, like you're forced to be with me."

Maya looks up, confusion and agitation in her eyes. I fight the urge to kiss her, to silence her with my lips. Why does she have to be so complicated and stupid? What made her so wary of settling down? Her life is perfect. Both of her parents seem happy and they have more money than anyone I know. Thinking was never one of her strong points, so why is she doing it now? I'll never understand women.

"It's not like that at all, Gio. Don't say that. It's that...I don't like making promises I may not be able to keep."

I roll my eyes in frustration. "Can you promise me at least one thing?"

"What?"

"Try. Try to make it work. To make us work."

She looks to the ground and sighs heavily. "I guess."

That's all I can wish for, for now.

**Author's Note: I got the idea of having two reapings from a story I read recently. I can't remember who wrote it, but I wanted to give them their credit.**


	3. Unacceptable

**Author's Note: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Thanks again for reading and don't forget to review!**

**Chapter 3: Unacceptable**

My dream is interrupted by something bright. Very bright. I groan when I realize what it is. Rays of sunlight peak through my window to dance on my eyelids, forcing me to wake up. I've never been a heavy sleeper, so the littlest things knock me out of my sleep. Shaking the grogginess away, I stumble to my drawer and throw on whatever I can find. The house is silent, except for the loud snores my father produces. My parents get to sleep in while I'm up at the crack of dawn feeding the damn animals. The joys of being the only child left in the house.

I wave at a neighborhood kid when I open the door. He gets up the same time as me to feed his chickens. It's nice to know I'm not the only one being slaved by my parents. Making my way to the stables first, the cows greet me with an energetic moo.

"Good morning to you ladies. I'm glad to see you all awake so freaking early." I swear, these cows don't know the value of sleeping.

Letting them out to graze takes longer than usual. The hefty animals are stubborn this morning. I have to practically push some of them out of their stable. Lazy heifers.

"Don't make me grab the whip," I threaten. Whenever the animals are troublesome, the whip comes out. Is it wrong that I secretly enjoy it? They're being a nuisance whenever it's used, so it's well-deserved. I make my way to the bulls. They're no better than the cows. What is up with these animals today?

After shoveling the last of the manure, I go grab a suit from the outhouse. The usual low hum of the bees isn't present. Good, they must be asleep. The wooden hives we have constructed for them are a good distance away from the other adobes. We had to relocate them a few years ago after one child had a bad allergic reaction to a bee sting. I didn't feel sorry for the stupid boy. He kept swatting at them with a stick. Bees aren't known to play nice when provoked.

I light a lantern and smoke starts to seep out. Smoking out's an old beekeeping method. Now it's more for the potential tracker jackers than the actual bees. The Capitol conveniently "forgot" to dispatch the nests they planted in Ten during the rebellion so now they're rampant in the outskirts of the district. These mutts are drawn to bees. They don't even produce anything. Just created to sting the hell out of you. And being stung by one is indescribable. I've been tackled by a bull, caught the end of a blade with my leg, and accidently whipped and none of those compare to the awfulness of a tracker jacker sting.

Paranoid, I wave the lantern over each hive, letting the smoke flow inside before opening them. Tracker jackers can fool you sometimes. I take the lids off the first four. So far so good. I make my way to the last one, the biggest and oldest hive we have. I pop open the lid and what do I find? A bulging nest much larger than the bees'. Dammit. I shut the lid as quietly as I can. Tracker jackers are very sensitive to motion.

Between swears (which my mother would have a fit if she heard me), I fetch a bucket and get water from the main river that runs through the district. Cleaning out these mutts is gonna make my morning routine last way longer than it already is.

Before reopening the lid, I double check my hood to the suit. We've owned ours for years, though they're as good as new. Beekeeping suits are hard to come by since raising bees isn't a common practice in Panem. I guess it's not cool enough for the Capitol.

I crack open the top of the hive and pour the entire bucket of water inside. Though it does the job of killing the mutts, it also drowns the bees. My mother's gonna be pissed when she finds out. Oh well. They're collateral damage. We have plenty more.

The dead wasps fall out along with the bees as I dunk out the hive, gigantic compared to their natural relatives. The sun is now happily shining and high-pitch melodies from short, fluffy birds fill the air. Apparently, nature didn't get the memo because no one would be feeling particularly sunny today.

I let out a deep yawn. Good thing our reaping is held in the afternoon. Maybe I could sneak a few more hours of sleep before then.

The hours must have sped by because too soon is a soft voice pulling me away from my sleep. I could hear the sounds of laughter and crying babies from outside my open door.

"Giovanni, wake up." Small hands shake my shoulder.

I groan and turn away from the mean hands. "No _Mami_ . Give me three more hours." Sleep has already abandoned me as I'm fully awake now. Bargaining for a few more hours wouldn't hurt though.

Her voice carries more force now. I receive a harder shove. "_Mijo_, get up." Sucking my teeth, I pull myself up and let out a nice, healthy fart. Ah, much better. I rub my eyes and see her clearly now: a faded purple dress, worn black shoes, her hair a messy bun. The same Reaping ensemble she's worn since I can remember.

There's something about her face that looks different. The lines and wrinkles are all gone. She looks a lot more youthful. "Who are you and what have you done with my mother?" I joke.

She chuckles. "It's called makeup. I saved up for years to order some from the Capitol. It was the cheapest they had." She moves off the bed and heads to my drawer. "Now stop being a lazy cow and get up. I have something special for you."

She pulls out a gray tunic with matching boots. "Ta-da!" A wide smile spreads on her face.

A gift? My parents actually got me a gift? Unlike other people in the village who splurge on moonshine or illegal game, my parents save like crazy. A gift or treat for me usually meant no working at the stables. They were simple people and expected their children to live the same. So what was up? First, the makeup stuff, now brand new clothes.

My mother must have noticed my expression because she's frowning now. "What? You don't like it? It's really soft. See? Feel it."

She hands me the tunic. It's very soft, straight off the lamb. Although we produce wool and leather in Ten, we're usually left with the scraps from District Eight. The richer families can afford to have animals solely for fabric. I'm used to my mother's hand-sewn clothes and my brothers' rough hand-me-downs. This had to have cost quite a bit.

I continue to silently run my fingers over the soft material. "Why'd you do all of this?" I speak.

"Oh, you know, just because." She puts on a smile. It's obviously forced.

"_Mami_, you're worried, aren't you?" She drops her smile and looks away. The wrinkles are starting to crack through the makeup.

"I could lose you today, Giovanni, and I wouldn't be able to function-"

My voice is soft but firm. "Don't talk like that, _Mami_. You won't lose me. I've made it through all these years. I'll be fine." I jump out of bed and hug her. I tower over my mother's small stature, her coming to my chest. My mother's a very emotional woman. She cried when my brothers and sister got married. She cries whenever one of our animals gets hurt. She went into a two-day depression once when one of the cows died during childbirth. She's always been a wreck on Reaping Day. Even after reapings were over and we were all safe, she would be trapped in this spell for hours.

I kiss her forehead and she walks out, giving me one last teary-eyed look. I change out of my worn pajamas pants and slide on the tunic and boots. I'm gonna burn up in this, but I'll bear it for my mother. The main room of the adobe is jam-packed with all of my relatives: brothers, sisters, in-laws, nieces, nephews. It's tradition in my family for everyone to gather at our house and all walk to the reapings together. I shout a hello through all the talking and head for the fridge. I grab a simple meal of papaya and tortilla. I would have a bigger lunch once I got back from the reapings.

I'm already sweating when we make it to the Town Square. I spot Ivan standing with his parents in the massive audience. He wasn't chosen for the second reaping and he's 18, so he doesn't have to worry about being reaped anymore. Lucky bastard. I'm actually the only one in my family of reaping age. Everyone else is either too old or too young.

"_Hola, hermano!_" I shout. We give each other a hearty hug, slapping each other's backs. The wool sticks to my moist skin as I give his parents a polite hello. I wrap my hair in a ponytail to get it out of my face.

He looks me up and down and laughs. "I see someone's all fancy schmancy for their reaping."

I roll my eyes. "They better hurry this up. This is my last year. I have better things to do than die of heat exhaustion." A girl did past out from heat exhaustion at the reapings once. Most of Ten is desert, so having us all squished together isn't the smartest idea the Capitol has had. Not like they have many.

"Now, now. Be a good boy and line up for your slaughter." Ivan gives a mock expression of authority and smirks. I respond with a jab at his shoulder.

"You gotta nice arm there. Use that when you go into the Arena!" he jokes and we share a good laugh before I have to line up with the reaped kids.

The eighteen-year-old section is packed as usual. By default, we have the most slips in and the oldest child usually takes out the tesserae. There's always an abundance of us at the second reapings.

I try to go find Maya, but I stop in my tracks when I see her with Eddie. They're embracing, giving each other small pecks and smiling in between. What is this, their honeymoon? They break off and he heads my direction. She's smiling until she locks eyes with me. A look of shock comes about her and she quickly snaps her head the other way. I inhale deeply. I guess last night never happened.

_I don't care. Maya is my ex-girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. We're over for good. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care_. I tell myself.

Why do self-pep talks never work?

I ball up whatever I'm feeling and put it to the side. I have better things to worry about, like not passing out.

Everyone's up on stage now. The audience quiets as the mayor begins her speech and the cameras focus on us. I chuckle to myself; it's a pathetic position to have, being mayor. Everyone knows the Peacekeepers hold all the power here. She's just for show; a fat, sweating Capitol jabberjay.

After her monologue is over, the escort is introduced. Picasso is his name. Unnaturally tall, charcoal skin, curly blue hair, and some type of getup with multi-colored shapes on it. I'm not sure if he's one of the Capitol's success or horror stories. He skips to the podium, flashing his pink teeth.

"Happy Hunger Games everyone!" he extends his arm out and poses, as if waiting for applause. Silence. He introduces each of our victors and how much of an honor it is to represent District Ten and how amazing we are and other fabricated cow dung I tune out.

Finally, he heads to the glass bowls. Sticking his hands in the girls' bowl, he makes facial expressions that look more nightmarish than excited.

A boy squished beside me is shaking heavily. "I'm nervous," he mumbles to me.

"I can tell."

He looks at me, surprised. "Aren't you? This is Reaping Day, you know."

"Sofia Mariposa!" Picasso holds the slip in the air and searches in the crowd for the victim. A petite girl emerges from the sixteen-year-old section and walks calmly to the stage. There is nothing particularly special about her, except her emotion. Or rather, lack of emotion. She isn't devastated, shocked, angry, or happy. She's blank. Nothing reads on her face. I can't even get a slight feel of anything behind her black eyes. She's as emotionless as the Peacekeepers. What's also strange is that no one's yelling or wailing. Usually, loved ones are dramatic and falling out when their child is called and the Peacekeepers have to contain them. Only forced claps are heard as she sits down, staring off into space.

_Chica_ has some issues.

I shrug at the nervous kid. "What's the point in being nervous? That's not going to lower your chances of being reaped." I may like to goof around sometimes, but I got my father's rationality. There really is no point in being nervous on Reaping Day. You were either chosen or not. There's nothing you can do about it. No amount of crying or resisting is gonna change your fate. Besides, District Ten is gigantic. Unlike districts like Six and Twelve, we have a huge population. The chance of being chosen is slim. The odds really are in your favor when you think about it.

People tried various ways of getting out of Reaping Day. Bargaining with Peacekeepers, bribing the escort. I've heard of suicides occuring in the poorer villages. The one and only way of getting out of being reaped is pregnancy. Some girls will purposely get knocked up months before Reaping Day. If a girl is noticeably pregnant, someone else will be called. Even the Hunger Games has its limits.

I fiddle with my hair as Picasso searches for the boy tribute. I start to daydream of various ways to torture Eddie when I find a split end. Oh no. I'll have to get a trim soon.

Picasso shouts something and the boy besides me lets out a relieved sigh. A high-pitched shriek is heard from the audience and the crowd starts to mumble. I roll my eyes. Whose parent is being so dramatic this year?

"Who'd he call?" I ask him.

"Some kid named Giovanni." He lets out a small chuckle. "Sucks to be him."

Panic starts to set in until I calm myself. Giovanni is a common name in Ten. He could've called a number of guys. This is my last year. The odds are in my favor. I don't need to worry. Everything's okay.

"Giovanni Del Rojo?" Picasso looks into the crowd, furrowing his eyebrows.

My heart skips a beat. I can't breathe. It's too hot in this crowd. Too hot. Too hot. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

No, the Peacekeepers are not dragging me out of the holding pens. No, the nervous boy is not giving me a smug look. No, my family is not shouting and wailing. No, I am not on stage, cameras shoved in my face, a black monster beaming from ear to ear.

"District Ten, here are your tributes!" Picasso shouts into the microphone. "And remember the four F's: Fame, Fortune, Family, and Fortuity!"

No, no, no. _No!_

The weird girl extends her hand. A rock is more expressive than this psycho. I eye her as if she's a rattlesnake and jump back, bumping into one of the victors. I snap my body around, readying myself for an attack. He stares at me questionably.

I turn around to face the crowd again. A new emotion fills me now. It replaces my blood, hijacks my brain, knocks every rational thought I previously had. I start to shake. My fists are balled. I grit my teeth so hard, I swear they're about to break. I start to scream through them, but it's drowned out by the applause from the stoic audience, the blasting anthem, the crying from my family.

This is unacceptable.


	4. Failure is Not An Option

**Author's Note: I had originally planned for the Justice Building part to be much shorter. A burst of imagination came to me and I just kept writing and writing. To prevent it from being an extremely long chapter, I cut it in half. The other half shall be uploaded soon. Thanks for reading! **

**Chapter 4: Failure is Not An Option**

Things form an incomprehensible blur.

Cameras recede. The audience spreads out into the land. Picasso is saying something, but all the activity and the cries still coming from one family overpowers him. It's so hot. Why is it so hot? I tilt my head back and close my eyes. I open them when I feel hands supporting me. What's going on? Did I almost faint?

I'm rushed to the Justice Building and made to sit in some highly decorated room. Cool air hits me as I slouch down into the chair. Where is this air coming from? It's way too hot outside for a breeze. I soak it in and close my eyes. I try to recollect my thoughts and my sanity after being shot from what just happened.

What really just happened? This wasn't supposed to happen! This was my last year. My last year! Kids as young as 12 had double the amount of slips in those bowls than me! I shouldn't be sitting here, in the Justice Building, scared out of my mind. This should be some other kid. This should be some other unfortunate boy trembling, near tears. All of these years, I've watched every Hunger Games with unimaginable enthusiasm. Rooted for my favorite, wished death upon the annoying ones. I was its biggest fan. Actually being the one fighting never crossed my mind and I damn sure never wanted to participate. Now, I'm being thrown on camera to die for the same show I loved.

Is this payback? Revenge? Karma? Damnation? No, I didn't believe in the ramblings and beliefs some people spoke of about figures in the sky. They were stupid, pre-Panem ideas. But what did I do? What did I not do? I was a good kid. I obeyed my parents. I helped in the village. I treated my friends like family. Was it because I didn't try in school, was that it? Was ignoring Capitol propaganda punishable by death now?

I grip the handles hard, biting my lip, squeezing my eyes tight. No, I will not cry. Crying is not an option. Crying will never be an option. Crying solves nothing.

I open my eyes, two Peacekeepers staring expressionlessly. Who the hell do they think they are, with their spotless suits, always patrolling and dominating us, whipping and killing us if we get out of line, like we're the livestock? They have no right, absolutely no right. I want to yell at them, kick them, inflict the same type of pain I'm feeling. That'd only get me killed before the Games even started.

I let out a bitter laugh. Could you imagine, a tribute dying even before entering the Arena?

The doors burst open. I tense up until I see who's entering. It's my family. All except one. Before the door is closed, I get a glimpse of my mother sprawled out on the couch, one of my sister-in-laws waving a paper over her. She still hasn't come to yet.

Viviana reaches me first. I go to stand before she jumps on me, almost knocking me back down in the chair.

"Don't go Giovanni! Please! Give President Snow some honey so he'll leave you alone!" Her little arms are around me so tight. She doesn't understand, what child does? This is non-negotiable. The deal is done. Snakes are carnivores. They like their food to squirm and struggle before they devour it.

I give a weak smile and brush her hair back. A silent kiss on the forehead is all I can muster up.

My brothers and sister surrounds me, suffocating me with a hug, kissing at my face, speaking through cries, shouts, shaky voices.

"I can't believe this is happening!"

"Why you? Why us? _Mami_, she won't be able to live after you're gone!"

"The youngest, the youngest! Oh, why couldn't have been me?"

I stay silent throughout the hugfest. My face is blank as it's squished into my sister's bosom, smashed into Ricardo's sweaty cheek. I refuse to show emotion. That means showing weakness. I want to show my family I can be strong, that I can, no, will win this thing. I want to let out another scream because holding it in is becoming such a struggle.

When the dramatics are finally over, my father appears behind them. My mouth drops open. The gasp that escapes is the first sound I've made since reapings ended.

My father, the strong, solid, no-nonsense livestock herder, is crying. In all of my 18 years, I've never seen him tear up, not even at my _abuelo's_ funeral. He's the rock in the family, the glue that keeps us together. He's my role model. I try to model my own personality after his. So why is he crying?

My mask is shattered once I see him. I come running, yelping as hot tears burn my eyes. We embrace, my face buried in his chest. No words are exchanged. There needs to be none. What can a parent say to their child facing murder? Die fast? Kill yourself before they kill you? The scream I release surprises me, though my father grips my head harder in response. My body is shaking so much. I can feel his shaking too. He's doing a much better job at containing it than me.

I feel so young in my father's arms, so naïve. In a way, it's comforting. I feel like a little boy again. I've sent my first animal to the pens and I can't understand why it has to die. He's comforting me, telling me everything's okay, that that is what they're made for, to feed us. Now, I'm that animal going into the slaughterhouse to feed the Capitol's hunger. Irony at its finest.

I compose myself, pulling away from him. What came over me? I showed weakness. If I wanted to win, I couldn't ever break down like that again. My father must be ashamed of me.

Instead, he inhales deeply and stares into my eyes. He looks so old and weathered, deep lines forming all over his face. This is not the _Papi_ I'm used to.

"Giovanni," he begins. "_Mijo, _I love you. Always have, always will. You must promise to come back. Your mother would never be the same if you don't. We would never be the same if you don't." He gestures to the rest of the family, who's huddled in the corner, sniffing and making light cries.

It struggles to come out, but I make it. "I will. I promise. No matter what."

He's wiping the tears that continue to flow from my eyes despite my hardest efforts to control them. "My boy. My son. My youngest." He's crying once again.

"Time's up. You have another visitor." The out-of-place voice of the Peacekeeper seems to jolt everyone. She escorts them out and shuts the metal doors. During the very early years of the Hunger Games, tributes were given one full day to be with their loved ones. Several attempted runaways and suicides later, it was quickly slashed to one hour.

The door opens. Ivan. His eyes are red along with his nose. I should feel relieved to see my best friend right now, but the only think I can feel is my temper rising.

"Giovanni, I'm so sorry-"

"Stop what you're saying." I wipe away the tears. I hit my fist on the arm of the chair, causing the Peacekeepers to look.

"I know what you're gonna say." I fake a worried tone. "'I wish it wasn't you', 'Why do you have to go into the Arena?' I clasp my heart, mimicking my sister's actions a few minutes ago.

I get up now, the anger that I felt on stage returning. "You guys come in here crying, screaming at the top of your lungs. Is this a going away or a funeral? Stop mourning me like I'm already dead!"

"Why're you so angry?"

"Did you really just ask me why I'm angry? Do you hear how stupid you sound? Ivan, in less than a week, 23 people will be out to kill me. Most people don't find that too comforting! Act like I've already won, like I'm the victor. Tears are sorry excuses for motivation. Everyone has broken down, given up on me. I'm supposed to count on you to be there, Ivan! I consider you as my brother. Give me the support I need." My voice is shaky again.

Devastation into shock into anger is the waves of emotions I read on his face as Ivan soaks in my attitude. "I'm sorry that the thought of seeing you die on national TV upsets me." He folds him arms in defense. "And lashing out at me isn't going to up your chances of survival."

My hands start to form fists until I realize he's right. Why am I angry at him? It's not his fault. He's hurting as much as I am. I slump back down, embarrassed with myself once again. I should try being quiet more often.

Ivan sighs and walks over to me. "If you don't make it, I'll watch over your parents," he says.

"I'm coming back." I try to say it matter-of-factly but I come off sounding like a child. We make small talk and try to lighten the air by joking at how ironic things are. After the initial blowup, Ivan's presence made me feel a lot calmer and at ease. It's more like we're hanging out than saying goodbye.

He gives a chuckle, bitter than usual. He grabs at my shoulders and looks me straight in the eyes. "Give it your all, _hermano_." Two pecks on the cheeks and he's gone.

I have five more minutes left according to the Peacekeepers. I stare at the door in anticipation. Will Maya show up? I wait and wait.

She doesn't come.

I'm escorted to the train. What's all this commotion about? Me and Sofia are huddled inside as cameras and Capitol people barge their way through the crowd forming. Lights flash as shots are taken of me staring out into the window.

With a shaky start, we're off to the Capitol.

I whisper to myself, staring out into the vast desert of District Ten. "I will come back. Alive. Failure is not an option."


	5. We Have Arrived

**Author's Note: Don't forget to hit that fabulous button at the bottom of the page. Thank you for reading!**

**Chapter 5: We Have Arrived**

I pull off the tunic and boots, both drenched in sweat. Ah, much better. I open a wooden door to look inside. I believe it's called a bathroom. A small toilet and sink sit by each other. To the side, a large white space with a metal piece sticks out of the wall. I guess this is the thing called 'shower' Picasso urged me to take.

_What are all these buttons for?_ I ask myself as I jump in. There has to be at least 20 of them. What all do you need to wash? Are all showers like this?

Blue should mean water. Foam. Red? Steam. Purple? Goo. Yellow? Very bad music.

I'm about to give up until I see a metal handle at the bottom. Jets of steaming water hit me as I spin it. I jump back and cough a little, wiping the water from my face with my already wet hand. Why wasn't this here to begin with?

Minus the little hot water attack, I'm enjoying this shower thing. I go to press each button to see what they do and stare in awe at the results. Only the mayor has indoor plumbing in Ten, so this is brand new for me. By the time I'm done, I'm dried, shaved, teeth brushed, and smell heavily of pineapple. This beats bathing in the river by a longshot.

"Where is this air coming from? All the windows are closed," I say when I enter the main room of the train. Picasso and the mentors have already fixed their plates. Sofia is nowhere to be found.

Picasso stops the conversation with the mentors to give me a snobby look. "It's called air conditioning. Don't you have that in Ten?"

_We don't have running water, let alone air conditioning, you idiot._ I think. It's on the verge of coming out but I resist. It's probably not a good idea to upset my escort.

I shrug, faking a clueless smile. "Nope. We have to tough it out."

"Sucks to be you then," he gives an ugly laugh, blue curls dangling in the air. He gulps whatever the dark liquid in his glass is and slams it down on the table.

"Give me another one, boy." His speech is slurred as the silent server runs to fill his glass. Before the boy can even finish, Picasso snatches it from him, gulping it down once again. Some spills out of his mouth and stains his already multi-colored suit. This is not the same man who was on stage just an hour ago. The jolly, jubilant clown has been replaced by this inebriated, sloppy creature.

Ignoring his obviously drunken response, I go to pick out something to eat. I load my ceramic plate with whatever looks nice, which is pretty much everything. Turkey drenched in some type of cream, noodles in a bright purple sauce, vegetables wrapped in bacon, even a tall glass of goat milk. The Capitol must love to chow down. I wonder how they keep themselves so thin?

I sit down and eye my food. This looks nothing like the meals back in Ten. Carefully, the creamy turkey makes its way to my mouth. It's like happiness in every bite. No meat back home tastes this rich and juicy. I'm a lot more eager now, shoveling down the delicious food. I feel eyes on me as I slurp on the noodles. Sure enough, everyone's watching me, different expressions scattered throughout. Even the server boy seems to be interested. Mute, but interested.

My mentor smiles, taking a spoonful of his soup. "Is it good?"

I nod my head and give a thumbs up, forking another wad of noodles in my mouth. They're sweet, sour, and spicy all at the same time. I can practically feel my taste buds doing backflips. Sofia's mentor gives a soft laugh before going back to her food. How do they contain themselves? I can get used to Capitol living.

I hear a scoff. "Pig. Just like the swine you raise." I look up and see the culprit.

I put my fork down. How should I respond to his stupidity? Picasso has disrespected me twice in one day. He's my escort. He's drunk. He's a Capitolite. They're stupid. I must deal with him in order to win. Picasso has disrespected me twice. I've been disrespected by a drunken Capitolite. Sorry logic, emotion wins.

I place my fork down and look him dead in the eye. "Shut up."

All eyes on me again. The mentors are not so amused this time. The charcoal man is too shocked to respond, eyebrows raised as he looks towards my mentor for help. A satisfied smirk forms on my face. He's probably never been talked to like this before, especially not from a lowly tribute. He can't even think of what to say.

"E-Excuse me?"

"I said shut up," I say it with more force and irritation now.

"Look boy," he growls, shooting up from his chair. "I am a Capitol representative. I'm your escort. I control things around here. You will respect me. How dare you speak to me like that!" Horrible-smelling spit hits me. Whether it's intentional or not is hard to tell. "I can save or kill you with one phone call, trust me! Talk like that again and I'll make sure you don't get a single sponsor. Have fun being shipped back to your shit-infested district in a wooden box, you filthy cow breeder." He's glaring at me so intensely I wonder if he's going to jump over the table and attack.

Now he receives the looks. I look over at the mentors. They're infuriated but silent. The server drops his eyes to the ground. Why aren't they speaking? Let him have it. He took it too far. He insulted District Ten, our home, our families. Leaning back into my chair, I inhale deeply and close my eyes, balling my fists on the table. I need to find the strength to not snap my escort's thin neck, though it's oh so tempting.

Recovering from the blow, I keep with my attitude, simply laughing at his ridiculous rant. I will not let him win. "But if I die, that'll just lower of chances of getting a better district. I would hate for you to be stuck with us filthy cow breeders forever." I mock him, faking a concerned tone. He goes to fight back until he locks eyes with the mentors'. Outnumbered and overpowered.

"Let me check on those brownies." Letting out a nervous laugh, he stumbles and sways out of the room as Sofia enters. Giving him a questioning look, she's silent as she fixes her plate and sits down. She has a fraction of what I have on mine. Why not pig out? She's gonna be dead by the end of this week anyway. Better enjoy what little time you have left.

No one talks for the rest of the meal, scrapping utensils and soft music the only noise produced. Picasso's glare never leaves me as he downs another cup of the red liquid. I give him innocent smiles between chews of the sickeningly sweet and gooey dessert. What is in this stuff? Did he poison this? Sofia's wide eyes stare at us curiously, clueless as to what just happened. My mentor glances between Picasso and I, light sighs his only response.

Because sitting here in awkward silence seems to be annoying everyone, my mentor speaks. "Does anyone want to watch the reapings?" It was more of a command than a question because we're now in another room with a big television on the wall. Everyone is here except Picasso. Thankfully, he had to go 'refresh', whatever the hell that meant.

A yellow woman comes on the screen. Her fluffy white hair nearly covers her face.

"Hello viewers! It's that time again! The highest-rated show in Panem's history is back! The 61st Annual Hunger Games have begun! Let's view the lucky contestants."

The highest-rated show in Panem's history. You would think after 60 years, viewers would get tired of the same damn show. Then again, I was its #1 fan just a few hours ago.

The screen changes to District One's reapings. It's a stark difference than ours. The Town Square seems to be highly maintained, cleaned of any imperfections. Everyone's dressed in their finest and smiling like it's a celebration. A brunette shoves a girl out of her way and glides to the stage. She's pretty hot, like always. I've never seen an ugly District One tribute. I doubt ugly exists in District One. Her name pops up on the screen. Radiance. Really? District One always has the tackiest names. A short, muscular boy is next. Valor. I don't even know what a 'Valor' is.

"Pay attention to everyone's reactions. It gives you a good feel of their personalities and how they react to unexpected events. There'll be plenty of those in the Arena," my mentor tells us. Esteban is only twenty, the same age as my brother Ricardo, but he carries himself in a way that he seems much older. From what I can tell, he's very social and surprisingly stable. He's always so friendly and stops to talk to the people around town. If I had to choose, he'd be my favorite victor. Not because he's now responsible for my life. Maybe because he never looks as menacing or crazed as some of the other victors I see on TV. Or a ridiculous drunk like that Haymitch guy. Esteban's Games was five years ago. I would never guess the warm-hearted guy that sits behind me decapitated the District Nine boy without a shred of emotion. Maybe I should move a little farther away from him.

Yesenia is Sofia's middle-aged mentor. Reaping Day is the only time I see her around Ten. She's probably too busy with all of her children to be in the spotlight like most victors.

The rest of the viewings is spent with Esteban pointing out potential threats, giving sympathetic sighs at the bloodbaths, and telling jokes about the Capitol people. District Ten is up. I scoot up closer to the television. Sofia looks just as odd as she did when I was in the crowd. Her face is yet again blank as she watches herself mount onstage. I stare at her until I see what's next.

Peacekeepers pull me up on stage. I fight their grip and lose. My face is so scary and ferocious that even I feel uneasy. When Sofia goes to shake my hand, I look like I'm going to kill her right then and there. It's a surreal experience viewing myself on television. Who is that guy up there? Is that me? If being reaped unleashes that out of me, what will the Arena do?

"Looks like there's some competition from District Ten! Just look at his muscles!" the newswoman shouts. Do I really look that much of a threat? I guess I have a nice build, but I'm nowhere near that District Four guy.

A laugh is emitted behind me. "Giovanni, you look absolutely insane." Esteban smiles. "I'm still trying to figure out if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Ferocity attracts sponsors." I'm excited at the word 'sponsors'. District Ten rarely gets noticed. This is great news.

"And opponents." This is awful news. "Viewers will want to shower you with gifts while you'll be the main target among tributes." His expression turns serious. "I'm letting you guys know now: Do not, under any circumstances, interact with the Careers. Be as invisible as possible. Do you understand me?"

Both Sofia and I nod our heads in agreement. Way to be obvious, _hombre_. No one's planning to mingle with the trained murderers.

The last two reapings are nothing special, scrawny bloodbaths. The yellow woman returns onscreen. "Let's see how the tributes measure up in the polls." After every televised event, viewer-rated polls are broadcasted. It lets people in the districts know how their tribute is holding up against the others. The higher the rating, the better the chances of sponsors. The Careers reign at the top, with the District One tamale at #1. When I go down the list, I can't suppress the smile on my face.

Sitting at #9, behind the District Seven pair is my name, Giovanni Del Rojo, in white bolded letters. I'm #9! For a non-Career, the top 10 is an accomplishment. Sofia is #17. She isn't fazed.

_Looks like only one of us will be getting gifts_. I smirk in her direction. Another reporter, a fat man, is shown in a crowd of Capitolites. He's asking some of their first impressions of us. A glittering green girl roots for District Two. An older man with unnaturally large eyes is putting his money on Three. A four-armed blue guy who looks about my age is up next. They go as far as to glue extra limbs on themselves now?

His voice is extremely deep yet still carries that annoying Capitol accent when he speaks. "I'm gonna choose a wild card and pick that Ten guy. I wanna see him in the Arena."

"A Capitol person mentioned me!" I shout at Esteban. I'm so excited. A Capitolite sees potential in me! I'm guaranteed sponsors now. It's not until I come off my high that I realize he's not as thrilled. Is he…disappointed? My excitement evaporates when I remember why. Other tributes are watching as well. I slump down in defeat. How do I balance the two? If my score stays high, I might not make it out of the bloodbath. Yet sponsors can save you from death and Careers already hog all of the attention. I make a mental to-do list to make sense of things:

1) Avoid Careers at all costs

2) Three and Seven can surprise you. Watch out for them.

3) Become invisible

I'm on number four when the train screeches to a stop, jerking me forward. I think something's wrong when I see it outside. The buildings look like they pass the clouds. Everything's too bright and colorful that I wonder if a rainbow vomited all over the city. There's commotion outside, and are those vibrations I feel? Screams and shouts echo from outside the door. Just how many people are waiting for us? I get my answer when we're ushered out.

We have arrived.


	6. To Face The Capitol

**Author's Note: Sorry about the wait guys. I was caught up in reading other HG fanfics. There is some real talent on this website! Because of the wait, view the length of this chapter as a gift. Enjoy and don't forget to review!**

All of my daydreams of the Capitol could never compare to what I'm witnessing now.

When the camera flashes finally stop, I get a good look at the figures surrounding me. Picasso is bland compared to these…things. A fat, shirtless man with piercings all over jumps up and down, shouting my name. I'm sure I don't know you, fat piercing man, and I would never want to. Orange tears paint a blue woman's face, though the red lights blinking from her hair is the most distracting thing about her.

"District Ten! District Ten!" A fluffy creature resembling one of Maya's sheep grabs Sofia's arm. Actual emotion makes its debut when she yelps as the creature almost yanks her into the crowd. If Yesenia didn't shove the white thing away, she'd of been a goner.

"What was that?" I ask Esteban, not being able to hide the fear and disgust in my voice.

A small smirk forms on his face. "The Capitol is a strange place _amigo_. Get used to it." He better be glad his voice is like a whisper in this commotion. Words like that can get you killed for treason.

The break in the crowd allows me a better view of the city. It certainly matches its citizens. The buildings, an array of different colors and sizes, all have one thing in common: height. They all tower over us. Some I swear really do reach the clouds. And I thought the Justice Building back home was gigantic. Even the sun seems too bright, rays bouncing off the glass buildings, competing with the flashing cameras. Is everything in this place artificial?

So this is where I'll be spending the next week until Doomsday. Fascination and disgust fill me whenever I look around. Most victors make repeated trips to the Capitol. Could I handle staying in this place? Visiting is one thing and all these buildings probably hold so many untold stories and secrets waiting to be released. Living in this candy box amongst these manufactured creatures is another thing entirely.

My gawking is cut short when we're rushed inside a white building larger than any of the others around it. The overpowering scent of lavender hijacks my nostrils as we enter, causing me to inhale deeply. Sofia does the same.

"Where are we?" I say through struggled breaths.

"This is the Remake Center. This is where you'll be made over for the Opening Ceremony," Esteban says.

Picasso gives me a wicked smile. He's no longer slurring his words or stumbling about, but the attitude is still there. "And look more normal, like us." Normal? Those _monstrosities_ outside are far from human, let alone normal. I let out a harsh laugh. I'm not sure which is funnier: Picasso's pathetic attempt at insulting me or the fact that he honestly thinks he looks nice.

"It must be sad being so delusional, my dear escort."

"Not another word Giovanni," a stern look resembling my father's from Esteban is enough to quiet me. I smile when I see the fury on my escort's face.

Giovanni: 2. Clownface: 0.

"Come with me. Now."

I'm shoved into a bright room filled with heavily scented roses. They're even more powerful than the lavender smell in the lobby. Esteban slams the door so hard, I'm surprised it doesn't fall off the hinges. When he whips around, my smirk is wiped off my face. I feel like shrinking.

"Giovanni, you are my tribute. I am responsible for you. If you make yourself look bad, I look bad. Do not make me look bad. Understand me, _chico_?" I've mucked up now. He's so angry I know a slap is seconds away. The muscles that make up his arms and the scar running down his cheek only heighten my fear. Has he ever choked someone out of anger before, because it surely looks like he's more than willing to now.

Wait a minute. Hold your horses, _chico! _Why am I the one being lectured? Picasso picks on me. He starts everything. I have the right to defend myself. Tell that clown to act his damn age. And how dare Esteban talk to me that way. The only father I have is the one sitting back home in Ten. This guy, no, kid yelling at me is only 20 years old. A two-year difference! We're practically the same age! The fear quickly turns into anger. I frown and steady myself.

"But-"

As if reading my thoughts, Esteban cuts me off. "No, Giovanni. You do not have the right to fight back." His features soften and instead of hands around my neck, I feel them on my shoulders. My anger's still bubbling, but I'm happy at my mentor's mood change. Taking on a Hunger Games victor was not on my to-do list when I woke up this morning.

Our faces barely an inch from each other, his voice is a whisper. "I know how you feel. One good kick in the face is what that idiot needs. I don't understand why Cadence left." He refers to the woman who was, prior to Picasso, Ten's escort for eleven years. "However, we must respect him. It doesn't matter who you are; offending a Capitolite has serious repercussions. I've seen it with my own eyes." His face darkens at the mention of 'serious repercussions'. Curiosity begs me to ask him what he means by that.

He answers me with a grim warning. "You do not want to know." Are my emotions that easy to read?

"Now go out there and play nice, _amigo_." With a quick smile and pat on the head, I'm out of the room and back into the lobby. Curious eyes greet me as I make my way back to my seat.

"Is he ready to be an obedient tribute now?" my escort says, finding his nails more important than me. Bitch.

Esteban flashes an arrogant smile, though I can tell it's fake. "He won't be bothering you again after the talking to I gave him."

That seems to satisfy Picasso. I roll my eyes when I see his triumphant grin. "Good. When I took this job, never did I imagine dealing with such unruly tributes. They must not know they're in a place of class. The nerve, I swear." He looks towards Yesenia as if for approval, but she only gives him a polite smile. Clapping his hands, he stands from his chair. "Since we've arrived earlier, we'll have to wait on the other tributes prior to getting you all dressed for the Opening Ceremony. One and Two are already here and Three and Four shall arrive shortly. Let's make our way to Level Ten to wait."

We head to the metal doors across the room. The coal-skinned man pushes a button, making them fly open. A tiny, shiny room lies ahead. Why would we need to go inside a closet? Yesenia must sense me and Sofia's hesitation since she has to convince us to come inside.

"This is called an elevator. Don't worry, it's safe." This elevator thing is almost as fast as the train we rode on because we reach Level Ten within seconds. The spacious room is filled with furniture and flowers, all various shades of brown, beige, and tan. Animal hides don the walls and some are on the wooden floor. And are those tortillas I smell? District Ten with a Capitol twist. We're told to wait here. Our prep team and stylists haven't arrived yet either. Time must be relative in the Capitol.

Hours pass and still no sign of them. Picasso has decided the best way to kill time, and us, is to blabber on on his communication device. A party where the dancers will be covered in chocolate. A concert premiering right after the Ceremonies. The sad career of some artist named Monroe. How some guy named Degas had the audacity to wear a green feather top to some girl named Vintage's wedding because he clearly wanted to outshine her and steal her incredibly gorgeous husband. Even the stoic Sofia is clearly annoyed by our escort's ridiculous conversations.

Instead of shoving the device down his throat, I take the saner route and sprawl out on one of the animal rugs. It's a brown bear with its sharp teeth and claws still intact. It looks like it went down fighting. I wonder if whoever designed this room knows we don't have bears in Ten. I wonder if they care.

I lose myself in the heavy fur and thoughts I've pushed back since the reapings. Was it just a few hours ago? The sweltering heat, the smell of the crowd, my reaction, the pure terror I felt, it seems so long ago. Then my mind wanders to my family. What are they doing right now? Are they still crying? Has Mami came to? Who will look after the animals now that I'm not there?

The sudden urge to escape rips through my veins. This place is foreign. These lights, colors, smells, people. All foreign. Too artificial. This is not home. I want to go home.

It takes a second for me to see Esteban staring at me. "What is it Giovanni?"

I glance around, all eyes on me for the third time today. This being invisible thing is not working. And when did I stand up? "Oh, uh, nothing. Just thinking, you know?" A blush is starting to form on my face. _Control yourself Giovanni_. First day in the Capitol and I'm already freaking out. I need to keep calm and focus on the goal at hand. If I keep letting my emotions get the best of me, I'll die in the Arena. I cannot let my loved ones go through the horror of watching my death on national television. That is not an option.

He gives a slow nod, the concern never leaving his black eyes. For once, I'm happy to hear Picasso break the silence that has formed. His white device beeps and he squeals. "The teams are here! The teams are here! Hurry children, hurry! Off you go." We're shoved, me receiving a much harder one than Sofia, through a metal door placed in the middle of the room. The door closes shut and we're left all alone in front of two doors, one marked _Male_, the other _Female._ I have to squint my eyes and cover my ears when I enter my room.

And I thought the sunlight from earlier was blinding. Metallic from ceiling to floor, everything in this room shines and sparkles. I've never seen a place so…clean. More and more, my tan skin and dark hair marks me as a dirt speck in this spotless city. Hesitantly, I sit down on the silver chair in the middle of the room, nervous to leave a stain. I peek over at a table with big bright lights shooting from the mirror. Objects, some I recognize, some I don't, have been laid out in a neat row.

My ponytail acting as a stress reliever, I twist, tug, and braid in anticipation of what's to come. The music, a fast-paced song about a "rendezvous between me and you", is so loud and distracting my thoughts have to compete with the silly lyrics. What will my team do to me? It's not uncommon to see tributes look like completely new people than how they were at the Reapings.

"Oh my! He's a tall one! Much better looking than last year's."

"He may actually have a chance!"

"You know what that means? Promotion!"

Orange blurs suddenly swarm around me. One lifts me up with remarkable strength. My clothes are ripped off. Ice cold water is splashed on my bare body. A tube surrounds me. I'm actually terrified now. What is going on? Wind surrounds me at such incredible speeds my cheeks flap like a dog in a tornado. I'm thrown to the ground once the tube disappears, picked up, and dumped into black goo that smells worse than bull dung. I protest, but the one with the inhuman strength pins me down. With a smile, it says, "Can't have you running off."

After several minutes of being practically thrown around the room, station after station, I get better acquainted with the figures. From their nonstop chatter, my prep team does absolutely everything together. They live in the same apartment, eat the same things, listen to the same music, like the same art. They've even got the same surgical procedures and voice alterations. I can't tell one apart from the other; they're all tall and bright orange. I'm not even sure if they're male or female nor of their names.

One's using what they call a blow dryer on my hair while another scrubs my nails as if I've been wrestling pigs all day. Foamy material hits my leg and I jump for the umpteenth time during this torture/preparation.

I eye the orange creature suspiciously. "What's that for?" It's so cold that I begin to think it's freezing off my leg.

It rolls its eyes and starts in its accent. "For whatever tasteless reason, she wants you to have more body hair."

The one blowing my hair with the uncomfortable device scoffs. "How she got this job is beyond me."

"Nepotism at its finest," the one working on my nails mutters under its breath. Even Capitolites fear the ever-present Snow.

"AAAH!"

All I can do is scream when they face me towards the mirror. When my prep team said more body hair, I had no idea they meant this much! By the time they're done, dark hair covers my entire body, save my face and chest.

"Is this some joke?" I shout. Even the music seems to pause in confusion to my new appearance. With disappointment in their eyes, my prep team tells me no and leaves the room. I'm left butt naked, hairier than a bull's backside, wild hair flowing everywhere, and waiting for my so-called stylist to appear. What in Panem's name could she possibly have planned for me looking like this? Does she want me to have zero sponsors? I bet Picasso had something to do with this! Damn him! When I see him, I'm gonna-

"You look absolutely perfect!" A squeal comes from the door. I whip my head around to see a girl around my age jumping up and down in delight.

"Who the hell are you?"

Heels clanking on the metal floor, she runs up to me, squealing louder than one of Ricardo's pigs. "I'm Rhapsody, your stylist!"

I'm dead.

"Oh, I can't believe Daddy got me this job! You're my very first tribute ever!"

I'm not going to make it out of the bloodbath.

What have I done to receive such a brainless stylist? I don't deserve this. Even District Twelve deserves better. She goes on and on about how excited she is to be here, how worried she was to have gotten such a low district (but reassures me that she loves me), and other foolishness. I drone her out halfway through. The young girl giggles whenever she experiments with something on me, oohing when she starts spraying me with a gray liquid and ahhing when clipping on fake nails, which are way too long to be practical.

I come back in the conversation with herself when she's talking about what she would've done if Daddy couldn't get her the position. "My last resort was auditioning for Fashion Fiends. Could you imagine?" When not showing The Games, past seasons, or Capitol propaganda, every once in a while the Town Square television will play Capitol shows. I only watch TV for The Hunger Games, so I'm not too knowledgeable about any other programs but I hear that show is quite popular. "Though I'm so happy I get to participate in The Hunger Games instead!"

Participate? _Chica_, you're just dressing me up for me to murder twenty-three other children.

_You wanna trade places?_ The thought almost comes out. Logical Giovanni decides against it.

The only redeemable quality I can make of Rhapsody is that she's the prettiest person I've seen since I got her. Besides her two-toned hair, one side purple, the other black, gold eyes, and plastic see-through dress and boots, she's human. Her skin is a natural tan color and her face looks like the one she was born with. Or she must have gone to a really good doctor.

"Lean back," she directs, putting my chair back anyway. "Open your eyes. This'll just be like a bee sting."

"What're you-?" Pain rips through my eyes and she leans back up. "What in Panem's name, woman!"I shout, practically jumping out of the seat. Thankfully, the pain stops within seconds. I've been around bees all of my life. Did she get bees confused with tracker jackers?

"Ta-da!" she jumps back, a triumphant smile spread across her face when she finishes. "Look, look Giovanni." She pushes me towards the body length mirror and I see the finished product. Gray fur covers me, matching my wild, untamed hair. My brown eyes have been replaced by a golden color resembling hers. These aren't nails, they're claws, all on my fingers and toes. A small tall pokes out of my backside. I smile in amazement when I realize what I am.

"A wolf. I am a wolf."

Incredible.

A nervous expression crosses my stylist's pretty face. "You like?"

Turning around and around, I continue to survey myself. This is awesome! I get into character now and start growling at my reflection. Spinning around, I send a few playful swipes Rhapsody's way. She giggles and hits at me, pink nails raking through the fur.

"I love it!"

She beams when I tell her this. "I was getting tired of the cow theme, because honestly, a cow is nothing to be afraid of."

"Hey, hey now, you don't want to get behind an angry cow. Those legs can do damage." It's true; many people back home have been seriously injured by a ticked off dairy cow.

Rhapsody straightens up. When she speaks, I can finally see the stylist in her. "Well, I wanted to do something different. Cute came to mind first. Then I saw your reaping. No way a guy of your build would pull that off. So then I started researching of what animals live in District Ten and the wolf was the perfect one. Beautiful yet ferocious, and very territorial. Fast and can hold its own in a fight. Think like that when you're in the Arena." So my stylist isn't a complete idiot.

"I'm impressed," I admit, giving her a small clap. I look down and realize something: I'm still naked. "No clothes for the ferocious wolf?" Nudity is commonplace back home, but here, if feels so bizarre being so bare. Besides, unless you're District One, nude tributes usually don't go over well in the polls.

She gives her signature giggle. "When was the last time you saw a wolf in clothes? Don't be silly." The clock on the wall beeps 9:00. "It's time! It's time!" Rhapsody yelps and I'm rushed out of the room. Outside, Sofia is waiting and she too has transformed. We must be sharing the same expression because both Rhapsody and Sofia's stylist are grinning at each other. White wool surrounds her body, paired off with little black boots. Her dyed white curls and painted gray face confirm my guess. She is a sheep. While I am deadly, Sofia is as delicate as can be. Did our stylists not know wolves kill sheep? Or was that their intentions?

"Fabulous! Simply gorgeous!" Rhapsody praises us both. We're escorted down to the chariot rides; me and Sofia silent while our stylists gush over the other's designs. This is the first time we'll come face-to-face with our competitors, the ones that must die for one of us to return home alive. Sofia is visibly shaking. She appreciates my reassuring pat on the shoulder with a weak smile.

The waiting area is bustling with color, yet the mood is anything but colorful. Everyone's completely silent, sitting still in their chariots. Crowded around by what I assume is District Two's chariot, it decorated with rocks, are the Careers. They seem too focused on intimidating each other to notice the rest of us. I'm too focused on Radiance to notice the rest of us. District One's "costumes" are simply multi-colored gems covering their otherwise bare bodies. Seems like nudity is this year's theme. Just as District One's glare catches my wandering eyes, she catches her partner's wandering hands with incredible reflexes.

I smile. Her glare intensifies. I turn away.

The stylists thought out of the box this year. District Six, a usual letdown, are winged creatures in sparkling white gowns. And are those gold circles above their heads? Whatever they are, I'm impressed. They may actually get a sponsor this year. When I turn away from stroking one of the horses, a well-fed, chestnut beauty, the girl from District Nine blows a kiss. I'm not sure rather to be flattered or embarrassed. The thread and needle pair from Eight decide for me when they fight off giggles.

The doors open. The volume outside is so deafening, a stark contrast to the silence in here. Through the commotion, a steady 'District One! District One!' is heard from the crowd, the crowd that looks to be everywhere. Far away, up close, in the stands, by the gates. A pair of children tries to jump over. Electricity knocks them back.

_Now, now children. Only the tributes can tear each other from limb to limb._

District One's gem-covered chariot rolls out into the pandemonium to start the Opening Ceremony. Time to face the Capitol.


	7. I Like Bubbles

**Author's Note: I don't like the idea of demanding reviews, but your input helps. Reviews are feedbacks. They let me know what I'm doing right and wrong and how I can improve on the latter. You can tell me whatever's on your mind; constructive criticism makes for better writing. Thanks again for reading and enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: I Like Bubbles<strong>

I've moved up in the polls.

Underneath the District Four girl is my name, shining at #7. The small TV Room booms with cheers and claps.

"Oh my Giovanni! #7! So proud of you, boy!" Picasso shrieks. Before I can back away, black arms envelope me and I'm squeezed up against my escort. Well this is a surprise. Pulling away ever so slightly, I let out a small thank you to face Esteban. Prides shines from his perfectly white teeth, but there's something in his eyes that suggest something else.

He gives me a hard pat on the shoulder. "You did good out there, _amigo_."

The high from the Opening Ceremony clouds my ability to think more about my mentor. The chariot rides were incredible. After all the years of watching the Games, the TV screen didn't do them justice. The floor length window gives me a view of the city from above. The Capitol glows even brighter at night, to make up for the sun's absence. Massive crowds of people and cars move and zoom through the streets, scurrying like rats to the nearest hole. Sounds of all types echo up to the tenth floor. A baby's cries bounces off the glass buildings, mixing in with the honk and yells of an angry driver. Back home, everyone's asleep by now, too exhausted by the day's work to think about partying. I doubt these people notice the moon in the sky with all the everlasting commotion going on.

To celebrate the successful chariot rides, Picasso has set up dinner for us. It's even grander than the one on the train. A bouquet of flowers sit surrounded by silverware more expensive than my house. More and more I feel out of place in this land without a price tag. Thankfully I'm no longer naked, but the simple clothes and gray paint still on me make me look like I'm crashing the dinner than being invited to it. A few minutes after sitting down in the velvet chairs, a servant walks through the doors carrying out the first meal.

"Um, what is this?" Is what I manage when I see it. I poke the gooey creature that sits in front of me with my fork. Brown liquid oozes out of the bottom, making it more unappetizing.

"Steamed jellyfish cooked in garlic sauce. A District Four staple," Rhapsody squeals. We don't get seafood in Ten. In the textbooks, it always looked pretty good. I take a bite of the animal and immediately regret it. Sophia shares the same expression as me, actually spitting her piece right back on the plate. I'm at lease smart enough to swallow. Esteban and Yesenia take slow, polite bites while our Capitolite guests chow down like pigs to feed. What happened to 'a place of class'?

"Simply delicious," the coal-skinned man speaks as he fills yet another glass with what Esteban called wine. We each have a glass of the stuff in front of us, but I haven't tasted mine yet. Maybe a sip can get the awful jellyfish taste out of my mouth. Nope. The bitter, sour tang only makes it worse. How can Picasso already be on his second glass when the rest of us have barely made it through our first?

The servants silently remove our plates, the one waiting on me narrowing his eyes when he sees mine practically untouched, and bring out soup and salad, a much more familiar meal. Now's time for the main course.

My stomach grumbles in anticipation to whatever that is under the plates. "Smells amazing," I lick my lips. The last time I had a real meal was on the train, and that was hours ago. The cover is released and the aroma makes my mouth water. I immediately take a bite, not bothering using a fork. Mm, lamb chops drizzled with….strawberry sauce? No, raspberry sauce, definitely raspberry. The only things being heard now are clanks of silverware and moans of satisfaction. One servant stares longingly at my plate. My glare gets the message across. She quickly fixes her eyes on someone else. Find your own food. You live in the land of luxury. This meal has to be a snack compared to your usual meals. Ugh, even the servants are greedy.

"How was the Opening Ceremony?" mumbles Esteban between bites. He's asking both me and Sofia, but of course only one of us responds.

"Awesome!" I shout, pieces of broccoli spills out. My escort doesn't try to hide his disgust.

My mentor turns to Rhapsody. "And that costume. If I didn't know any better, I'd think Tigris designed it herself." She lights up at the mention of the woman. Being compared to the District One stylist is a great honor I assume. In skill, not appearance. I don't think the Capitol likes the look of the stylist slowly turning more feline than human with each Games.

Picasso scoffs, swaying a little as he begins to talk. "Now let's not get ahead of ourselves. You're talented, sweetheart, but not near the level of Tigris." Uh oh, the alcohol has set in. Her smile fades and for a second, I see myself in her. I make no effort to hold in my chuckle. The escort abruptly sits up to wobble towards the door.

"This soiree is bland, darlings. That concert everyone's been raving about for weeks should be much better than this snorefest. Tootles." With a small glance behind him and weak wave, the clown is out the door.

"Good riddance." Rhapsody flips her hair defiantly, snorting before he can reach the elevator. Nervous, we all laugh and nod in agreement, not really sure what to make of a Capitolite offending another but brave enough to agree with her. The meal goes on, no one missing Picasso's presence. Dessert tops things off.

Colorful circles are stacked on top of each other in big glass bowls. I stare curiously, feeling like a cat observing a ball of yawn. Grabbing at it, the cold surprises me. It's like ice in my fingers, slightly melting with each second. Well, it can't be finger food. Popping one ball in my mouth, I jump a little at the freezing sensation. The orange one tastes like mango, but in frozen ball form. I roll the green ball on my tongue, smiling as cold breath flows out of my nostrils. I can't place the flavor of this one, but it's delicious.

I catch Rhapsody's eyes on me, her stare transfixed on my show. She looks quite amused. What's so funny? "Ice cream," she says. "It's called ice cream. And you use a spoon. It's much easier that way." Giggling, she scoops hers up to show me, gold eyes never leaving my brown ones. "Don't you have it in Ten?"

I shake my head no, hoping my ponytail hides the redness in my cheeks. Picasso asked me the same question. It sounds much nicer coming from her. Funny how tone matters. But why am I getting red from a girl, a Capitol girl at that, I just met? Thinking of all the reasons why makes me grow redder. Letting out my still-dyed hair to obscure my face, I see my mentor giving me a devilish wink from the corner of my eye. Oh mercy.

Dinner continues with me avoiding my stylist's eyes, my mentors giving each other amused looks, and Sofia off in whatever world she's been in since the Reapings. I guess awkward meals are gonna be my trademark. When it's finally over, I bolt towards my room.

"It was a nice dinner Giovanni." My name in Rhapsody's accent sounds so foreign.

"Same," is what I can manage before shutting the door. Looking around, this bedroom makes mine look like a closet. My mind begins to wonder as I explore the room bigger than my entire house. Just how many tributes have been in this very room, sat on this very bed? What were their thoughts? Did they have a strategy? What were their final moments before going into the Arena? Before their deaths? I cast the thoughts away as quickly as they came about. If I want to live, I can't have any distractions. Th answers are simple: they're either victors, or dead.

Maybe a shower will clear my mind. Besides, I need to get this gunk off me. It still takes some getting used to the heat and pressure of the water. It's so different to the lukewarm baths I've taken in the river all my life. Soaked clumps of hair cover my body. I don't want to look like a plucked chicken, but all this fur has got to go. I don't care what the Capitol idiots think. I make sure to press the black button for shaving. And the white button for bubbles. I like bubbles.

Wind from the open windows flow inside the bedroom, drying me off while I flip through the clothes catalog. Ugly, ugly, decent, don't know what that is, ugly, ugly. Who knew there were so many options for pajamas? Going all natural it is then. I plop down in the bed, getting lost in the sheep-soft sheets. Life outside the door has seemed to have died. The lights are off and it's completely silent. Life outside the window, however, hasn't missed a beat, sounding louder than before, if that's possible. The city lights dance on my face but the thoughts in my head darken yet again. Sleep must want to taunt me tonight because I'm trapped in that awful place between awake and restlessness. Rolling and rolling for what seems like hours, I sit up in defeat. Forget it. Tonight's gonna be one of those night.

Throwing on some pajamas, I creep to my door and peek outside. Pitch black. Looks more like a Games a few years back than the never-sleeping Capitol. The thought makes me reconsider leaving the safety of my room until I see a dim light shining around the corner. Who's up at this hour? Everyone left after dinner and I hadn't heard a peep since. Curiosity gets the best of me and I'm soon tiptoeing through the dark hallway of the Training Center. I reach the TV Room and stand perfectly still when I see who it is.

Sofia's dark eyes are locked on the television in deep concentration as she observes whatever's so interesting. My eyes follow her gaze. Ah, the 43th Hunger Games. Older Games are shown when everyone is usually asleep while the recent ones are broadcasted throughout the day. I was just a newborn when this one aired, but it's one of the more popular Games. A gigantic wooden ship fills the screen. Tributes surround the Cornucopia on the top deck. Water stretches off for miles, seemingly trapping them. The Careers look confused; the others, terrified. It's rare an enclosed arena is used. Who'd want something advertised all year round to end in a few days like last year? Sofia hasn't taken her eyes off the screen yet, grimacing when the District One guy snaps a tiny boy's neck.

_I should go. I'm interrupting_. Turning around, I'm almost out of sight when curiosity bites again. It seems weird that the only interaction we've had with each other is a pat on the shoulder. I don't want to befriend her, but I at least want to know who she is. I don't know. Should I really care? For whatever reason, I'm backing leaning against the doorway. I really should curb my curiosity before the old saying comes true.

"Shouldn't you be sleep?" I speak over the screams of the District Seven girl. She jumps, letting out a small scream herself. It takes a second for her to break out of the trance when she finds me at the doorway.

"Gotta open seat?"

The girl gives a small nod, still surprised by my presence. I plop down on the cushy sofa a good distance away from her. Those cookies on the table are calling my name.

"You mind?" I ask, grabbing one anyway. She shakes her head no as I pop it into my mouth. The minutes seem to stretch while we sit in complete silence, watching the bloodbath take place. Usually, this is my favorite part. The action's top-notch and the tributes are pumped on adrenaline. Now, this is terrifying. Every single bit of terror, desperation, horror those tributes are displaying I can feel. I don't want to watch this. That will be me on the screen in a few days. The silence and faraway screams continue on and on. I should just go. This is awkward and watching an old Hunger Games is counter-productive anyway. I shift uncomfortably until finally moving towards the doorway.

"How do you accept your death?" The voice, soft and tired, stops me dead in my tracks. Was that on TV or was it Sofia? Slowly turning back around, I'm given my answer. Her eyes bare right into mines, the glow of the television screen illuminating her like a ghost. This is the first time I've really looked at Sofia. The couch seems to tower over her small frame, sitting awkwardly on the edge of it. Her face, worn and hollow, match those dead, completely dead eyes haunting me right now. How do I answer a question like that? I haven't given something like _that_ much thought.

"Fantasizing about my death isn't something I'd consider a hobby."

Sofia continues, using the same soft, monotone voice. "We will die in the Arena. You do know that right? And don't say you won't, because you will. There is no hope." My eyes widen in shock. Whoa, whoa, whoa. This girl, my own district partner, telling me I'm gonna die? Who is this _punta_!

Casting off any thoughts of leaving, I approach her again. "Excuse me? That's not for you to decide. Got that?" It takes all I can manage not to snap on this kid.

An ugly snort is her response, not even blinking while she stares right back at me. "You honestly expect to live against 23 other people out for blood? Come on now, it's impossible. No point in trying, Giovanni."

"Keep those thoughts to yourself, _niña_ . Maybe I'll have one less person to worry about when you're dead," I snarl, grinning and folding my arms in triumph. The petite girl lets out a bitter laugh, turning her head sharply to face the darkness around us. She mumbles something, but I don't bother to listen. Her head stays facing the darkness for a while. Hm, I showed her. How dare she disrespect me. Feeling satisfied, I head for my bed to leave the wicked girl until a whimper makes me turn around for the third time tonight. Ugh, can't I go to bed? Emotional Giovanni tells me to see what's wrong until I finally give in. Moving closer to Sofia, the sound gets louder. She's turned against me, but her body is clearly shaking. Is she…crying? The whimpers turn into soft sobs. Well this is awkward. This girl is actually crying. I hate crying people.

Sitting back down on the couch, words form in my mind, but none seem right. Doing the only thing that comes to mind, I slowly pull her into the hug. Sad people like hugs, right? Sofia shakes uncontrollably in my arms, resting her head on my chest. My eyes wander the room as her tears wet my shirt deeper and deeper. Can this please be over? I don't want to hug this girl but seems to have comforted her. I guess I did the right thing.

Regaining her composure after several minutes of this, she lifts herself from out my grasp, looking as embarrassed as I feel. "I'm so sorry. I just…had a moment. I'm so stupid!"

"I've noticed."

Sofia scoots away from where I'm sitting, averting her eyes like she usually do. "You don't understand. That's been held up inside me for a long time." Extending the 'long', I wonder what's her story. "I live in the Community Home."

Oh, that explains it all. From the few times I've ventured to the poorer villages of Ten, I've witnessed those Community kids. The majority of them, malnourished and dirty, look like starved tributes than Ten citizens. Once, an ugly little girl had the nerve to steal my entire bag of bread. I've never liked those rats since.

Not knowing what to say to that, I blurt out the first thing that pops in my brain. "It must really suck to be you." That produces a laugh, a real one, from Sofia.

"You're tactless," she tells me when she's finished. "That's gonna be your downfall one day."

To show I'm not affected by a Community kid's comment, I shrug. "We'll see about that." This conversation is really uncomfortable. I wish her goodnight and make my way out.

"Giovanni?"

"Yes?" Slight irritation creeps into my voice. I just want to sleep.

"Don't try to save me in the Arena, okay?"

The truth comes out before I can formulate a polite response. "What gave you the idea that I would?"

She lets out another chuckle. "Good. At least one of us has a fighting chance."

Making my way to my room seems like a scarier task than before. Stripping out of the soft clothing, my thoughts picks back up on its new hobby as I make my way towards Dreamworld. First day in and my district partner has given up. She's weak. Being around her will get me killed no doubt. The more distance, the better. Right before I drift off into oblivion, the one thought that's been lingering in my head since the Reapings rears its ugly head:

Could I kill Sofia Mariposa?

* * *

><p><strong>If I'm moving too slow or too fast, just tell me please. I won't mind!<strong>


	8. Not A Slumber Party

**Author's Note: This chapter was a lot of fun to write. It's also one of the longest chapters to date. I hope this doesn't discourage you from reading. :[ When you're done, review please!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Not a Slumber Party<strong>

"Separate or together?"

"Separate."

Esteban looks at us both and nods approvingly to me. It's obvious who he supports more, not that Yesenia or Sofia seem to notice, or care.

For once, dining has been tame. Looking more horrible than usual, Picasso is subdued. "A dreadful hangover, ugh," he groaned when he dragged himself into the room.

Surprisingly, Rhapsody's nowhere to be found. No one makes any mention of her absence, so I'm guessing everything's okay. Waves of relief sweep through me. She's a distraction. But a tiny bit of me is disappointed. Okay, maybe more than a tiny bit.

Bright rays of sun penetrate through the dining hall window, signifying what's on all of our minds: the first day of training. It felt strange waking up with nothing to do. How do the Capitol kids manage? Since I was a little, sunrise meant work. All these years I've moaned and groaned about the animals, but now I miss the stupid critters, even the crazy bees. Though I can't say I miss shoveling their crap too much.

The mentors make light conversation while me and Sofia nod and respond at appropriate times. My district partner's trembling hands match my mood. What should we expect today? Training isn't televised, so we're in the dark about what's coming for us.

Finishing up the last of our breakfast, Esteban calls me into another room. Shutting the door, he gives me a sympathetic look. The genuineness in his eyes as he reads me is embarrassing.

"Don't be nervous."

I say it too quickly. "I'm not."

"Yes you are." I put my head down, avoiding Esteban's eyes. So much emotion is sealed inside those eyes. In mine too. What would Papi say to this act of weakness?

"Don't feel bad. I was scared during my Games too." Trembling, the wall stops me from jittering all over the place. I'll admit it, I am nervous. Training makes or breaks you.

My mentor clears his throat, causing me to jump a little. "To get you pumped up, let's get right to it." He forces a reassuring smile on his face. A perfectly toned, well-manicured finger, out of place paired with his otherwise masculine body, sticks in the air. "Number one: Absolutely no alliances of any kind."

"Never planned on it."

He smiles. "Good. You've watched enough Games to know there are no happy endings for them. This is the Hunger Games, not a slumber party." A giggle creeps up but scurries away when I see his face. Oh, he's serious. Put on your serious face Giovanni.

"I gotta give you props for not teaming up with Sofia, _amigo_. That right there shows your smarts. I wish my tribute two years back thought the same." I won't be like that boy who tried to team up with his district partner during the bloodbath. Poor kid couldn't even react before she stabbed him to death. Don't worry; her head went a'rolling seconds later.

Another finger joins the first. "Number two: Observe your competition. All twenty-three of these people are your opponents. Memorize their strengths, weaknesses, and movements. Engage in small talk only to take in their personality. Knowing their weak spots can be the difference between the cannon being theirs and the cannon being yours."

I nod in confirmation. "Got it."

Esteban places a hand on my shoulder, his eyes holding an unreadable emotion. "Do you care about the animals sent to slaughter?"

Where's he going with such a random question? "Um…no?"

"But you care about the ones you keep, your pets?" I nod. "Then think of your opponents in this way. Pets hold sentimental value. Livestock don't." I'm still wondering what the hell this has to do with anything until he puts in bluntly.

"Those won't be kids in the Arena. You won't be Giovanni. You will be the rancher. They will be the cattle."

It takes a second for me to process what he's saying, and a moment to realize he's serious. "You want me to treat them like animals?"

"The Hunger Games is a savage event _amigo_. You better learn quickly. There's an old saying I heard my _bisabuelo_ say once: 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do'. I had no idea what he meant until I was reaped."

"What's Rome? And who are Romans?" I never paid attention in history class, but I never heard any of my teachers mention them before.

Clueless, he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know but the quote is true."

It's stupid I'm feeling so upset by what Esteban said. I knew ever since my name was drawn I'd have to kill to get home. But still, comparing children to livestock is just...disturbing. If they're gonna die, they should die as a human being. As if that's any better.

"And finally," the third finger pops up, grabbing me from my thoughts. "This is obvious, but train. Really train. This is a battle to death Giovanni. Six of your competitors know more ways to slit your throat than you know how to shear a sheep." Any ounce confidence I had has now been washed away completely. The trembling has returned. "Practice during training. Practice outside training. Do what you have to do to prepare yourself. Don't let them see your weaknesses. They'll exploit it to their advantage."

Scrunching up my eyebrows, I go to speak. "How can I train without showing my weaknesses? That makes no sense."

Smirking, he replies. "Make it make sense." I'm guided out to the waiting area where Yesenia and Sofia are sitting quietly on a sofa. Did Yesenia give her tribute a pep talk? She surely looked like she needed one. Neither of them are the talkative type, so I doubt it. Not for the first time do I wonder how the middle-aged mentor became a Victor. Was she always this way or has the Games left a shell of the woman who used to be?

"Ready?" Esteban asks the pair when we pass them. With a tight squeeze of the hand, Yesenia nods in encouragement to Sofia and motions for her to follow us. We're guided to the elevator. I'm still not use to this thing. Right before the doors close, Esteban gives me a wink.

"Have fun."

The ride is silent as the numbers on the side beep, beep, beep throughout the descent. We stare straight ahead, not peeping a word to each other. This elevator doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. Where is training? Underground? I've never been underground before. It sounds scary. Stealing a glance at my district partner shows she's just as terrified. I take this opportunity to make myself feel better and intimidate her. It's wrong, but who cares.

"Scared, Fifi?" I say. Fifi sounds like an annoying nickname. Something you'd name a dog. Yeah, that works.

A mix between confusion and amusement dances on her face. "Fifi? You're gonna have to come up with something better than that, _chico._" Her voice shakes as she speaks, blowing her nonchalant cover. For whatever reason, my hand finds hers and I grip harder than I mean too. I'm not sure if it's out of intimidation or fear.

"Need a hand?" My voice is shaky too, unrecognizable to my own ears. Black eyes shoot through my own as an attempt of a glare from my partner.

"No thanks." Funny how she never lets go of my hand. I don't either. No matter how much I try to deny it, the physical contact is comforting.

Our hold breaks when the metal doors open. A vast dirt field spans out into the distance, stations and people scattered all throughout. I look up to view a gray ceiling high up in the sky. Gamemakers sit a safe distance above us, watching. When we step out of the elevator, two uniformed women stamp the number '10' on our backs.

Just like how we peg numbers on the livestock before slaughter.

The Careers, all huddled into their wolf pack, are in one corner while everyone else grazes the field of stations. The only ones missing from the herd are Six and Seven.

"Seems like we're late to the party," I mutter to myself. I don't bother looking back at Sofia, us separating when the women are finished. Whatever that was in the elevator is over.

Before I can get a good look around, the others arrive and a tall woman calls our attention to the center of the field.

"Tributes, my name is Atala. I'll be your head trainer for the duration of this week. The rules are simple: Learn as much as possible at each station and absolutely no fighting another tribute. Save the energy for the Arena." Her teeth are almost canine when she smiles. "Use your time wisely. Good luck." And with that, we're free.

Everyone seems to have already made up their minds on where to go because I'm the only one left in the center a few seconds later. Which do I choose first? The choices are overwhelming. I spot Sofia in the crowd then quickly turn my head. Why am I looking at her, out of all people, for guidance? Curiosity bites again and my eyes follow her path. The knife-throwing station. Straight for the offense. She'll need it.

Deciding I can't stand here awkwardly forever, I choose a station on the whim. The plant identification one doesn't sound too bad. There's almost always some form of vegetation in the Arena. If I'm gonna go out, I'm going out with a fight, not because some berry poisoned me. The trainer, a fat, pleasant-looking man greets me with a warm hello and starts on a basic lesson about edible plants. I try to pay attention, I really do, but the lecture is boring and his stutter makes it hard to keep up. The District Eight boy beside me keeps nodding off to sleep, encouraging my drowsiness from the little rest I got last night.

"Now, I w-w-w-will lay these-s-s-s out for y-you," the man smiles, placing eight varieties of different plants. "S-s-some are poiso-o-nous and-d-d others are ed-d-dible. Good luck." I fail on all but two of them. The Eight boy can't identify any. He tells us to try again but I give the trainer a polite thank you and leave. He's nice but I'm wasting my time with him. I'll just come back tomorrow or something.

Where to next? Offense? Defense? Survival? My original rule of avoiding the Careers at all cost is still in effect, so all the offensive stations are off-limits. At 5'11, trying to camouflage my body would be a joke. Embarrassing myself by giving a go at a tree makes the tree-climbing station a no too. In the distance, a track sits nearly empty. That's weird. This should be the first place everyone heads to. Their loss.

When I reach it, the girls from District Three and Twelve are facing off. Both are pretty slow and tire about half way through, but the Twelve girl has an age advantage over the smaller Three and wins the race.

Out of all the stations, this one is where I need to spend the most time at. I'd say I'm pretty strong and would probably hold my own for a quick minute in a hand-to-hand fight, but I'm too slow. More than once have the bulls back home gotten away from me because of it. Hell, Ricardo's chubby pigs give me a run for my money.

"Start at this line," the gruff trainer tells us. Positioning ourselves, the Six kid joins in, giving us a small smile and wave. No one waves back.

"On your mark, get set, GO!" With a boom in the air reminiscent of the cannons, the race has started.

Well I'll be damned; the Six boy has an incredible distance between the three of us from the start, brown hair soaring through the wind like a wild race horse. This must motivate Twelve because one second she's to my side and the next, she's zooming past me and Three. My feet pound the dirt harder and harder, trying to keep up with the stallions, but it's no use.

I look at the little girl to my right. She's doing worse than me. Her mouth hangs like a tired puppy, fighting to take in air. Every step forward is a struggle for her tiny legs until she finally gives out on the track, panting louder than I've ever heard a human being pant before. It's when she's almost out of sight that I hear the awful gasping noise. What is that? It must be pretty loud because now a few tributes from other stations start to surround the girl.

"Everyone get back! I said get back! Now!" the trainer barks at the onlookers. What's all the fuss about? I stop, mostly to prevent myself from passing out as well, but to mainly be noisy. By the time I get to her, a crowd has formed around the trainer and Three. This little event has attracted nearly everyone over here. Even some trainers have left their area to see what's wrong. The muscular track trainer gives the weak girl a weird white device blow to into. It takes a few seconds for her breathing to return to normal.

I take this time to survey the others up close. Might as well use this time wisely like Atala said. Some look concerned. Most are terrified. My eyes roll in amusement when I see curly-haired Sofia. She can't even look at the scene, back turned and swiping quick glances at the scene every few seconds. The Careers look bored, borderline annoyed. The Four boy laughs while Radiance quickly loses interest and walks away side-by-side the towering Two girl, brown hair nearly covering the '1' on her back.

I can just imagine what the pretty little thing is thinking: _"How dare some idiot take time away from practice! Who else is going to kill everyone in the Arena if I can brush up on my murdering skills?"_

District One girls; so pretty, yet so stupid.

Minutes pass until the redness in District Three's face lightens. "I'm okay guys, I'm okay. It's just my asthma acting up," she reassures us. Wobbling a little as she gets up, she gives an embarrassed smile and squeezes her way out of the circle.

Is it wrong that I'm a little upset by her recovery? To be honest, her death would've been one less person to worry about. And technically, Atala didn't say a tribute can't die during train, just that they can't be murdered during training. I must not be the only sick individual because the expressions I see on the others' face are anything but relieved, one girl shooting daggers at the wobbly Three.

I do feel a little sorry for the girl. If it wasn't already obvious by her District and size, her asthma broadcasted just how pathetic she is to all twenty-three of her opponents. She's a marked target waiting to be struck. Eventually, whoever's left grows bored of just standing around and things go back to normal.

My speed's nowhere near where I want it to be, but I need to rest for a bit. The shelter station is nearly empty, so I head over there. It's understandable why practically no one's over here. Unless the Gamemakers make a frozen Arena (have mercy Gamemakers and make it a warm one this year), shelters aren't used very much. There're always plenty of places to hide in or behind and man-made structures smack dab in the middle of nature can be spotted from a mile away. Still, you just never know what the Gamemakers have in mind. My father's always told me and my siblings this whenever we complained about work: It's better to know it and not need it than need it and not know it.

"To make a proper fire, you'll need wood, flint, and dry…We have another visitor," the trainer stops her speech as she greets me with a strong shake of the hand. To be giving tips on how to survive in a game of death, these trainers sure are nice. There's only one other tribute sitting down. I'm not sure who she is until she tosses her auburn ponytail behind her back. Oh boy. My eyes widen in embarrassment just as hers widen in excitement.

"District Ten. So nice to meet you again," the girl purrs, looking me up and down while twirling her hair around her fingers. This is the same District Nine girl that blew me that kiss at the chariot rides. "I'm Virgo. What's your name?"

I don't buy Virgo's act. Everything about her seems forced, right down to the too tight training shirt and the too tight shorts she has on. And really, this girl is way too young for me to even consider doing anything with her.

"Whatever you're trying to do, it won't work on me."

Shock and anger flash in her eyes before it's masked by a smile in a second. That was not forced. She's good at masking her emotions I'll give her that much.

Her voice is as smooth as butter. "Aw, why so angry, love? I mean no harm." She holds her arms in defeat, giving me a puppy dog look. My scoff makes her drop the weakling act and the trainer clears her throat to break up the conversation.

The lesson is more interesting than the plant one I was given an hour ago since I can actually understand what's going on. The only problem is that every few minutes, Virgo gets closer and closer to me. I scoot farther, she scoots closer. Halfway through the silent battle, the Six boy stops by. A short, blonde girl is with him this time, both sitting closely together on the ground.

At one point, the persistent Nine is just about in my lap. I lose my concentration and my cool a bit when I shove her off of me. What is this girl trying to do?

"Look," I start when the lesson's over. "Trying to get in my pants won't save you in the Arena, I can promise you that."

Virgo's still lying on the dirt floor, legs dirty and bangs swooped over her eyes. She looks more like a clumsy child than a sleazy seductress. "You better think of some strategy Ten," her flirtatious tone poisoned by an attempt at a venomous voice.

"You see them over there?" she points to the Careers, who're busy scaring off tributes at the archery station. Valor launches an arrow straight through the dummy's head, breaking through the fabric and hitting another dummy behind it.

"That'll be you in a few days," the girl sneers. "They're ruthless, Ten. Completely ruthless." Every part of me screams to let this girl have it, but I don't. Virgo's just a silly girl trying to intimidate her competition. Excuse me, _failing _to intimidate her competition. I won't bother being affected by her.

Making my way from the girl, a bell rings before I can choose another booth. We're directed in the training center to a big cafeteria. Lunch time.

It's a simple, quite meal, creaks of metal and a humming sound from that air blower thing filling the room. My sandwich and cold pasta serve as a good distraction from the creepy looks Virgo keeps giving me. Doesn't the Hunger Games protect you from sexual harassment? And I don't understand why the Six boy and Eight girl, the only other ones grouped together, keep staring at me. I cannot be that interesting to have attracted the attention of three tributes the first day of training.

I'll let the Careers block out these strange people. They're too far away from my table (I made sure of that), but whatever's the Two kid's saying must be really interesting because they're all hanging on to his every word. When he's finished stabbing the air and making a shocked face, their heads all go back, shouting laughter and hitting the table for mercy. The Four girl is the only one who doesn't, her eyes staring off into space and looking around frantically at the sudden burst of noise. Everyone else in the room looks their way too.

_What to make of this year's Careers?_ I concentrate hard on them. From what they show on TV, the wolves always seem ready to claw each other to death at the drop of a hat. Now, these batch of assassins are acting like best friends than temporary allies. Have the ferocious animals turned soft on us?

I hope so. I really do.

The Careers go back to their conversation a little lower now and quiet resumes. It's true when they say silence is golden. No weird Sofia, no bitchy Picasso, no authoritative Esteban. Just Giovanni enjoying my food.

The bell to leave training blares through the cafeteria and we stomp out of the feeding pen. So much for the silence.

At the elevators, the crowd almost fights to get inside, so I let everyone pass me. The thought of being in an enclosed place with someone that will possibly kill me in a week is not a good idea whatsoever. My plan just about works until someone comes running from the cafeteria right before the door shuts. When he notices me, he looks as horrified as I feel.

_Let him be a low number, let him be a low number. _In big red writing sits '11' on his back.

To say the ride is awkward is an understatement. Our heads are focused directly to the door, us standing a good distance between each other. Not a single breath is taken while the damn elevator decides it'll go slow to prolong this magical moment. When my floor finally appears, I practically jump out of the tiny holding cell. No one's here yet, so I head over to my room for a quick nap.

* * *

><p>Hours pass until the team arrives and dinner is served.<p>

"Made any new friends _amigo?_" I glare at my mentor to show my appreciation for such a stupid question.

"What do you think?"

Esteban nods, apparently happy with my answer. "Keep sticking to the plan Giovanni." Then he turns his attention to Sofia. "How about you?"

She shrugs, her mumble barely audible over the soft music somehow coming through the ceiling. "District Eleven's boy is nice." Slumped in her seat and picking through her meal, the Sofia I've grown to love has shrunk back into the meek little thing from the Reapings. How pathetic. One day of training shouldn't break you like that.

Eating through the platters and platters of food, me and my team talk about all sorts of Games-related things while Sofia sits in silence most of the time. Picasso gossips about another escort's dissolving marriage for a little bit. For once, Yesenia opens up and talks the majority of the time about her family. You can hear the love and concern in her voice when she speaks about them. Five children, all boys, run her mad but they mean the world to her.

"It kills me to leave my husband and children so much out the year, it really does." Her head is held low, dark circles roped around her eyes. I couldn't imagine leaving my parents and siblings every year. Then again, that's the life of a Victor. Either that or dead.

"At least you get to enjoy our fabulous culture," says Picasso. I scowl at the man for his insensitivity, but not an ounce of venom or spite sits on his face. For once, the blue-haired escort is showing compassion, and at a district dweller at that.

"A glass of wine can make any day better." His pink teeth form a candy-colored smile full of naivety. In his ignorant Capitol mind, he's comforting her. To him, alcohol is a great substitute to holding and loving your child. It's shallow and stupid, but I can't fault him this time for his actions. He meant well.

Yesenia looks up with a weak smirk forming on her face. "Thank you Picasso. I can't deny how...extravagant the Capitol is."

He bobs his head excitedly. "It is. It truly is." With that cooks up another Capitol-covered conversation. I tune out most of my escort's airheaded discussions until it's time for bed. Taking a quick shower, I hop into the valley of sheets and pillows, ready for a good night's sleep after today's shenanigans. A soft knock drags me out of my wonderful sleep and pushes my body toward the door. I'm not sure what time it is, but it seems pretty dark outside, even with the glowing streets below. When I focus my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I'm surprised to sleep Sofia's tiny body hovering outside my room.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" A yawn creeps up as I speak. She looks lost, like she doesn't understand where she is, and very nervous. "Are you sleepwalking or something?"

"I couldn't sleep," she says quickly.

"Oh."

We stare at each other in silence. We're still awkwardly by the doorway. I want to know what the hell she's at my door for, but I'm really not in the mood for tea and chit-chat.

"Can I, um, talk to you?" she asks, almost sounding like a beggar from the streets of Ten.

"It's three in the morning. Training's tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know."

My eyes squint in confusion and frustration. I'm too annoyed to conceal it. "So go back to bed."

She looks generally shocked and hurt by my response. What did she expect? I'm tired. We agreed to train seperately, and that meant outside training time too. "Oh okay, um…well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then. Bye." The girl turns on her heel and scurries away, sucked into the abyss.

Rolling my eyes, I shut the door and get back in bed. I'm more than angry at the fact that I can't go back to sleep anymore. Not because of Sofia waking me up, but because I can't get her out of my mind. What did she want to talk about? Before I know it, I'm huddled in the hundreds of bed sheets thinking of all the possibilities that scared her.

Oh shoot; I never did ask her what she learned and noticed about our competition, I mean, my competition. Does she know more about them than I do? Has she allied with someone already?

_Stop it Giovanni _. I scold myself for being so paranoid. The fear stays, swelling up like a balloon in my stomach. Her cowardice is running off on me, I can feel it.

But whatever she'll face in the Arena I'll face too. Whatever's got Sofia so terrified will be coming for me in a matter of time.


	9. It Rhymes With Ally

**Author's Note: Sorry for taking over a month to update. College started back up the day after I uploaded Chapter 8, so you know what I've been doing all this time. Partying! No, I've actually been hitting the books like a madman. That, and I had the first part of this done, but was unsatisfied with the way it was heading. After a complete scrap of the first draft, contemplating if I wanted to continue this story, and an incredible amount of self-motivation, here it is. I've decided to speed things up a bit so we can get to the Arena faster b/c I'm not sure if you guys are bored with the Pre-Games stuff. I hope this doesn't seem rushed, because it certainly took a while to write all of this.**

**Enjoy! And review please! Reviews = A happy mintjellyfish**

**Chapter 9: It Rhymes With Ally**

Day Two of training has been…interesting so far. There's been good news, great news, and highly annoying news.

Good news: Spear throwing isn't so bad, which I'm thankful for. The Capitol must have a love affair with the things because they've appear in every Hunger Games I've watched. Nailing a dummy twice in the shoulder and once in the stomach, I earned a "compliment" from the urine-colored trainer. Apparently, I'm "pretty good for a dung eater". Had my pest not shooed me away, the man would've received a "thanks" in the form of a fist in his mouth.

Great news: Virgo has found another plaything to harass. In the form of a lanky, shaggy-haired boy, District Three has fallen for Mistress Nine's advances, following her like a rat to moldy, smelly cheese. I even overheard the lovestruck boy while waiting for the swimming station that she was his first girlfriend. Every so often, I catch Virgo blowing kisses my way, smiling and squeezing the Three boy's hand tighter whenever we make eye contact. I smile too, greeting the whore with a pleasant, ever-so-friendly middle finger.

Highly annoying news: Remember that pest I mentioned earlier? Yeah, I've picked up one, no, two leeches already, and I swear they're sucking everything out of me. I knew something was up when I spotted the first one behind me the fourth time within thirty minutes of today.

"What do you want?" Whipping around, I catch the District Six boy by surprise.

With a nervous smile, he takes a far step back and waves, shaking a bit. "Hi, I'm Eli. It rhymes with ally. Eli. Ally. Eli. Ally. Funny how unrelated words can mean the same thing in the right situation, huh?" His voice matches his neat, well-groomed appearance; light, innocent, full of happiness. How you can be so upbeat in a situation like this is beyond me.

He chuckles to himself, waiting for me to join in. I am not amused.

"Well, Eli," addressing him by his first name causes the brown-haired boy to perk up, before he hears what I'm about to tell him. "If it's allies you're looking for, you're talking to the wrong guy."

His cheerful expression falters a bit before he regains it. "You don't mean that. I know you don't."

"Oh buddy, I mean it." The blonde Eight girl joins us. Eyeing us, she sees exactly what I'm doing. Big shiny teeth still set in a smile, Eli doesn't understand what my tight grip on his shoulder means for him, but the girl does. If looks could kill, I'd be today's special roasting in the kitchen.

Nothing else is said between us and I leave for another station. I think I've finally flicked off the bloodsuckers when I see them again. And again. And again. And again.

"Nice match there," Eli tells me at the hand-to-hand combat station, smiling like an idiot doped up on morphling.

District Eight is silent.

"Next time, envision the next footstep before going to another rock."

District Eight is silent.

"Awesome swimming buddy. Never imagined you'd know much about the water coming from a desert."

District Eight is silent.

"Oh, that District Two boy is vicious with a sword, isn't he? Gotta watch out for him in the Arena."

District Eight is silent.

I was wrong; Eli is not a leech, he is an insane Jabberjay, created for the sole purpose of driving me to suicide. Somehow, the pair has made it to my lunch table and Eli is jabbering away about our outfits at the Opening Ceremony when I've had enough. Placing my fajita down as calm as I can on my plate, I look up at District Six and smile.

"Eli?"

My voice catches him by surprise. All this time, he's been the only one talking. "Yes?"

"Shut up."

Stumbling for words, Eli turns redder than the salsa on our plates. This elicits a snicker from the Eight statue, a barely visible smirk forming on her lips. I've done the impossible: I've silenced a Jabberjay and made a statue speak. How many sponsors I could get with that?

A look of shock crosses District Six's face, his hands covering his cheeks. I wonder if he used the bathroom on himself until he speaks. "Oh my goodness! I never asked you your name. Nor have I introduced Chiffon. Mother would be so ashamed of me!"

He clasps his forehead for a second before starting back up again. "What is your name? You look like a Javier. I bet your name is Javier, huh?"

"Why does it matter?" I ask, out of genuine confusion than mean-spiritedness.

Eli gives me a look as if I've asked him the color of the sky. "Because we've just met. Proper etiquette."

Looking at me expectantly, it's silent for a moment. A laugh from the Careers' table can be heard in the distance.

"…Giovanni," I couldn't be mean to the boy again. To be honest, I felt a little bad for telling the perky kid to shut up. He did deserve it though.

"Good," Eli nods his head and motions towards the Eight girl. "This is Chiffon. We're allies."

Chiffon's hazel eyes bear into mine. With a fierce handshake, we never let go of each other's grip, or each other's stare.

"Hello Giovanni."

"Hello Chiffon."

I don't trust her. Something about this girl doesn't seem right. I can't place it, but I don't like it. Her voice is too calm, too sickeningly sweet to be genuine. If I remember correctly, she's only fourteen, same age as Eli. Average built. I could easily kill her. Wouldn't take much to snap her neck I bet. Yet, she has an air about her that's fit for a Career than a girl from the thread and needle district. It's crazy but she does. This little fourteen-year-old has some fight in her. I can see it in her eyes. I'm impressed.

Maybe I'm just seeing things. Being in the Capitol has made me more than a little loopy.

* * *

><p>Days past and I'm forced to become better acquainted with the Six and Eight pair. They, more like Eli, refuse to leave me alone. My running's gotten a lot better though. I'll never be as fast as Eli, or "Black Stallion" like I call him. He smiles and makes a really goofy pose whenever I say it.<p>

I was right about Chiffon; Blondie's absolutely deadly. She runs, she climbs, she swims, she evades. Knives are her specialty. The fourteen-year old hit nearly all her targets right in the bullseye, earning her a spot under the District Four girl's high score.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" I ask incredulously after the Four girl's done throwing a hissy fit.

Giving me a devious smile, she has to tilt her head back to look up at me. Chiffon's probably half my height. "School."

"So what class did you learn knife-throwing in? English? Science? Fess up Chiffon."

Rolling her eyes, she starts. "My parents are avid fans of The Hunger Games. They've taught me and my brother how to…appreciate them in order to…express our love for the Games in case we were ever reaped."

The fourteen-year-old twirls a dagger in her hand, staring at the light shining off the elaborately decorated weapon. "I'm its biggest fan."

Her eyes never leave it.

* * *

><p>"They're training them in District Eight, Esteban," are my first words to my mentor after a long day of training.<p>

It's the day before the last day of training. I've been holding back my association with Eli and Chiffon from everyone since training started. It's none of Picasso's business and I didn't want to imagine Esteban's reaction. I assume Sofia doesn't know either since Yesenia hasn't spoken a word about it. The few glimpses I get of Rhapsody barely allow time for a hello, so she's also in the dark.

Dropping his smile, he starts to question me like a Peacekeeper. "How do you know this? Where did you get this information from? Who are the District Eight tributes? This is a very serious matter Giovanni. Tell me right now."

Esteban stares at me, still in the small compartment that's been my bedroom since I've arrived in the Capitol. Me and Esteban have gotten close throughout my time here. Our personalities are almost alike: the same bluntness, the same snarky remarks. If I wasn't headed toward my death in two days, I could see myself actually being good friends with him. This fact probably makes the shock that I've held out such an important thing from him worse.

Backed into the corner now, I feel like getting my head smashed will probably result no matter what my response is. "Okay, Papi. If you calm down, maybe I'd be able to tell you."

Esteban backs away and sits down on my bed, pitch black pillows and covers almost engulfing his stocky body. "Training your tributes is grounds for severe punishment Giovanni. Don't go around announcing that." I give a quick nod. "Now speak."

I breath in slowly. "Okay. I talked to the District Eight girl-"

His eyes go wide in surprise. "You've talked to the other tributes?"

"Yes."

He rises to his feet again. I stay locked in position, not out of defiance but out of fear of what would result if I dared to move. "Without telling me?"

"Yes," I mumble.

I look away from his black eyes because his gaze is terrifying. Letting out a heavy sigh, he massages his temples and plops back down on the bed. "Continue."

I tell him about everything that has happened so far. My improved running. Eli. Chiffon. The stuttering plant trainer. Esteban's tanned face is set in deep concentration throughout the conversation, emotion unmoving. When I'm done, he nods his head. The gesture looked more for himself than for me.

"Learn as much as you can about them tomorrow than drop them. Remember Giovanni: No alliances. You hear me?" My mentor looks at me, waiting for confirmation.

I roll my eyes but don't disagree. "I haven't forgotten."

Esteban gives me a kiss on both cheeks before he leaves. "This is for your own good Giovanni. It's for the best."

Bags too dark for a man so young hang under his eyes. A hint of sadness from what I couldn't imagine stays on his rugged face. He looks like a tired old rancher who's had one too many animals die than a Hunger Games Victor.

"I know Esteban. I know."

* * *

><p>The Careers seem more agitated than usual today. Not that any of them would ever win Best Personality, but they've never been so antsy like they are now. Maybe it's because it's the last day before the interviews, but they've all been getting into small squabbles with each other, snapping at every word the other says, especially the District Two pair. I won't be surprised if one of them starts the Games right here in the Training Center.<p>

Looks like the friendship club has ended before the Games even start.

What's worse is that the wolf pack has decided to take their frustration out on the rest of us. Valor from One has taken a special interest in Chiffon, crossing the boundaries even for a Career.

"You're good. Leave these two and come with us," he tells her, looking at me and Eli in disgust and returning his gaze on her. His hungry eyes never meet her face. The disgusting boy makes no effort to hide what he really desires, edging closer and closer to Chiffon as he speaks.

She slaps his hand away from her hair, causing him to give a look so predatory, I fear he's going to kill her on the spot.

"You don't deserve my presence," Chiffon spits defiantly, holding her head up high although I see how she trembles a little.

Valor whips her around and in an instant, she's up in the air, pressed against his body, muscled arm around her thin neck. For a second, they look like siblings simply playing rough, until Valor lets his hands wander free all around Chiffon's still-developing body.

"It was a command, not a suggestion _chère_," he breathes into her ear, blond stubble scratching her cheek. Chiffon tries to slip away, but he only tightens his already painful grasp on her.

Eli looks absolutely horrified, hand over his mouth. Mustering up the courage, he stomps his foot, ready to hold his ground. "G-Get off of her. She's only four-"

"Stay in your place, Six!" Valor growls. Eli does exactly what he's told and doesn't dare speak another word, eyes holding a look of complete terror.

I roll my own eyes, annoyed rather than concerned about this whole situation. I won't let an asshole trying to get off to a fourteen year old distract me from the little time left I have to train.

"You've gotta have something else better to do, _amigo_, than to be over here with us," I tell him, holding a bored expression, even though inside I'm scared out of my mind for talking to a Career like this.

He goes to speak but is cut off by a rough voice. When Valor sees who's behind him, all of his bravery has been washed away.

"He does. He's just too stupid to realize it."

The boy from Four glares at his fellow Career, muscles looking about ready to burst through the skin-tight jumpsuit we've all been given to wear. "Stop wasting your time with these bloodbaths and let's go."

Valor lets go of Chiffon, pushing the girl in his last act of stupidity, pouting like a child who has to shovel manure in the summer heat.

"You don't run things around here, Creek." The boy from One follows behind the boy from the fishing district dutifully, despite his words.

"I'll catch you three later." Adding emphasis on the word 'catch', Valor walks away, leaving us with a very angry-looking Chiffon.

Eli rushes to comfort her, but is pushed back by a harsh shove. I can tell she didn't mean it when she instantly goes to pat him on the shoulder, as if he's the one that was just humiliated in front of everyone.

"Don't pay any attention to that glitterhead," Chiffon shoots Valor a death glare, who's far away enough to not hear her. "If I don't get to him, his so-called allies look eager to do the job before me."

It's true: from the distance, I can see the District Two girl berating the blond boy, animated hand gestures making up for the words I can't hear. His district partner looks on in amusement, lazily playing with a piece of her perfectly curled hair.

"I'm just glad they're gone," Eli breathes a sigh of relief, daring to sneak a quick peek at the two men too preoccupied with their pack to notice us.

Things soon go back to normal (or as normal as they can get in The Hunger Games). I'm on the running station, Eli's at the hand-to-hand combat one, and Chiffon's visiting the animal recognition trainer. When I finish up my last lap, I see the Careers are gathered in a circle. They don't bother to whisper. I wonder what they're up to until I catch word of their loud conversation.

"I won't allow someone with a knife score second to mine to sleep beside me. No way," the District Four girl shakes her head fervently.

Valor looks bored with the conversation, looking ready to change the topic already. "Why do we need to ally with any of them anyway? Last year, the Careers did fine with just killing them all. Always have, always will."

"Looking to kill us off early huh, Domitia?" The District Two boy gives his district partner a razor sharp smile, speaking in a tone that tells me he's only half-joking.

By this time, Eli and Chiffon have joined me by the tracks, both eyeing the Career circle suspiciously. Chiffon moves cautiously while Eli looks like he will mess up his underwear at any moment.

"What's going on over there?" Chiffon asks.

I shrug, not taking my eyes off the group. "Don't know."

"Look," Domitia starts, straightening her shoulders, voice stern and commanding. "Every Arena is different, you know that. They may be of some use to us. Now choose one." Her companions all look ready to disagree, except Radiance, whose face has been blank this whole time.

"District Ten looks worth something this year," Creek casually throws out the suggestion.

I go stiff at the mention of my district. Who are they talking about? It can't be me.

I look over to Sofia, who's struggling to get herself up the rock climbing station, fumbling and nearly falling at every move, having to have the aggravated trainer help her.

Well, it's clear they're talking about me.

But why? I'm not that impressive. I'm slow, barely decent with weapons, and nothing much to look at. What am I good for? Strength? Hand-to-hand combat? They easily top both. Chiffon and even Eli could provide them with much better abilities than I ever could.

My suspicions are confirmed as the wolf pack march almost as one towards our direction, Domitia leading the way, Radiance a few inches behind. There's no question who runs this year's Career Alliance.

Eli immediately shrinks away before they can reach us. I admire Chiffon's courage to stand by my side stiller than the stone District Two produces. I feel her trembles match my stronger ones.

"Boy," the Two girl beckons to me. She doesn't acknowledge Chiffon. I can't help but jump at her deep, domineering voice. It's a struggle to keep her gaze when I know she alone could kill all three of us with the flick of her hand.

There's no way this girl, no, woman is eighteen. Domitia is the tallest tribute this year, towering over all of us, her unattractive, dark-skinned face set in stone. So is her district partner's. Not angry like District Four. Not arrogant like District One. Completely, utterly devoid of emotion.

Her soldiers stand behind their general silent, though I notice Valor having a staring match with the stubborn little blonde that's yet to move an inch from my side.

The Training Center has fallen silent. We've caught the attention of the others. Some look on curiously. Most look more than relieved that it's not them dealing with all six of the Careers at once.

"We've come to bestow the honor of allowing you to join our alliance," she speaks with such an air that I wonder if her parents run the streets of Ten.

I stare, wide-eyed and completely dumbfounded. It still hits me when she says it, even though I knew what they wanted with me before they came over. I can't join the Career Alliance, absolutely not. Allying with those who've been trained to kill since birth is a disgrace in District Ten. What would my family say, Papi say, when they see me become one of them? And Esteban. He warned me for good reason to stay away from any alliances, and what more dangerous alliance is there than the Careers? He's a Victor. He knows best. No, I can't do it. I won't do it.

But the aspect of being a Career is worth it, at least for a little while. Food, weapons, and shelter is secured and I know where six of my biggest threats in the Arena are at all times. When the right moment comes, I'll just sneak away, or kill them in their sleep if I have to. And is no really an option for the warrior girl that looms in front of me, watching, waiting for me to give her the wrong answer?

What should I do? What should I do?

I look to my left. Chiffon eyes me, suspicious and uncertain. My hesitancy has left her wondering where my loyalty lies.

I look to my right. Eli is fiddling with anything he can find; his hair, his jumpsuit, his boots. He's clearly no help.

"Well?" Domitia's grating voice knocks me back into reality.

I say it as casual as possible. "No thanks."

Creek raises his head, a curious smirk painted on his face. Valor and the District Two boy let out vicious laughs. The District Four girl rolls her eyes and leaves, making her mind on what she thinks of me. Eli lets out a sharp gasp. Chiffon instantly relaxes, her trembling slowed down and her rock-hard expression replaced with one of triumph, sneering at the now rejected Careers.

If I wasn't about to be killed, the look on Domitia's face would have me in stitches. He eyes take on an unreadable emotion as she takes a sharp inhale of breath. For a second, the woman looks like a bull ready to charge. I ready myself for the impact, closing my eyes for the inevitable. When I open them back up, all I see are gleaming white teeth forming the scariest smile I've ever seen in my life.

"You absolute, fucking idiot," she speaks with such an unnaturally calm demeanor that only scares me more. "You will be the first we kill."

And with that, they all walk away.

Except Radiance.

The girl from the luxury district still stands perfectly in her spot, peering into my face, no doubt studying the confused and frightened look I know she must see. The One girl glides over to me, stopping inches away from my face. What is she doing?

Her soft hands find my hair, manicured nails raking through it until they abruptly tighten around a piece.

She pulls. And pulls. And pulls.

A whimper of pain escapes but I never let go of my glare with her diamond-hard gaze. She won't win. I refuse to let her win.

As soon as she starts, she lets go, sighing in disappointment.

"Tsk, tsk Giovanni." Her voice is soothing and melodic, surprising for a girl who tried to pull a Levi just seconds ago. "It'll be such a shame to kill you_._"

I'm taken aback by her not only using my name, but bothering to remember it in the first place. I give my angriest look, still rubbing the area of my hair she decided to play with.

"Such a shame I'll have to ruin that pretty little face of yours, Radiance," I mock her, using the same condescending tone she used with me.

Letting out an amused chuckle, she turns around, brown locks purposely whipping my face.

"_Au revoir_ Giovanni. Let's meet again, _oui?"_

**Sorry if you feel like I introduced too many characters in one chapter. I was afraid if I jammed 5 introductions into 1 chapter, you guys would get mad. With brighter news, there's one more chapter till the Games began!**


	10. Stupid

**Author's Note: Yay! We've gotten so far! I hope you enjoy the chapter before the Arena. I will warn you: this chapter is pretty PG-13.**

**Chapter 10: Stupid**

That was really stupid of me. Really, really stupid of me.

"What were you thinking Giovanni?"

I shrug, slouched down in the chair, hands covering my eyes. "I don't know."

It's the night before the real fun begins, the real reason why I've been sent to this ridiculous city. The interviews have just ended and I'm still dressed in the sparkling silver and white get-up Rhapsody put me in. It's nice, I guess, but not me at all. The tight button-up shirt and pants are fit more for a carefree Capitolite loverboy than an animal herder from District Ten.

Funny how what I look like in my interview matters when I could die tomorrow. The Capitol is really starting to rub off on me.

A few more strands of hair fall to the ground. Rhapsody is going for a "rugged party animal" look. I threw a fit about her hacking away at my hair, but during the interview, the audience seemed to love my new look.

About my interview, well…let's just say Radiance really hates me now. And Esteban. And all of District One probably.

"Is it true?" Something in Rhapsody's voice makes me look up.

"Is what true?"

Now it's her turn to shrug. "You know. You two."

"Of course not. We've barely said two words to each other. It was all for show."

_What does it matter to you?_ is what I'm thinking. I keep the thought locked shut in my mind.

Pearly whites shine in the ultra-bright styling room. "Good. She isn't much to look at for a District One tribute anyhow."

I cast her comment aside and ask her a serious question, looking her dead in the eyes through the mirror's reflection.

"How much chance do you think I have, honestly?"

She stops cutting my hair and looks to the side. "Well, uh…" she starts, thinking of what to say to a dead man walking. "You've moved up in the polls and after that stunt you pulled at the interviews tonight, you'll definitely be on everyone's radar."

She gives me an encouraging smile and quickly goes back to cutting. It's true; the audience and, more importantly, sponsors will be all over the fabricated story I made up while walking up to the platform stage. We'll see how well my plan worked out tomorrow.

Three more swipes of the sharp silver scissors and I'm whirled around to face the end result of Rhapsody's experimentation.

"All done. You like?"

I look older, harder, like serious competition. Rhapsody has enhanced all of my masculine, strong features without the help of a surgeon's knife, which I'm more than thankful for (I've seen the end results of tributes visiting Capitol doctors).

I give her a genuine smile. "Thank you."

She blushes a little, then squeezes my shoulders, "Welcome, love. Don't want ya to pull a Jade in the Arena." She gives her signature giggle while I shudder at the bloody image of last year's Victor's near death experience. Now that I think about it, long hair in the Arena would only be a hazard. It was time for a change.

Before I can walk out the door, Rhapsody's voice calls for me again.

"Gigi, darling." Sometime during the few days I've known her, she's developed a nickname for me. She thinks it's adorable. I think it's aggravating. She doesn't seem to care.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" I playfully remind her though I'm serious.

Rhapsody ignores my response and continues. "Meet me on the Training Center rooftop in an hour. Gotta surprise for ya, 'kay?" She tilts her head to the side and waits for the yes she just knows she'll receive.

What does my stylist possibly have for me that's important at one in the morning? A nice pair of shoes? A rabbit's paw to wear around my neck?

I give her a confused look, but agree to it anyway. I should probably be getting as much sleep as I can before the Arena tomorrow, but what the hell.

"Don't be late love. You won't wanna miss it."

* * *

><p>When I arrive on the rooftop, it's surprisingly colder than I expected. There are few objects up here, save a few big metal things that I can't begin to assume the use of.<p>

What in the world would Rhapsody want to do up here? I look around and around the massive area almost giving up until I spot the reason why I'm here at a faraway corner. Getting closer, I see the vibrantly dressed teenager sitting at the edge of the rooftop, swinging her legs lazily in the air, humming a tune like she doesn't have a care in the world. If only I could say the same about myself.

"Isn't it dangerous to be that close to the edge?" I stand behind, raising my eyebrows in amusement. When she turns around, her perfect teeth rival the brightness of the Capitol down below.

"Nope. There's a force field in case anyone tries to off themselves before going into the Games. Happens all the time," she casually lets me know, her strong Capitol accent turning the statement into a question. I try to hide my grimace. How can she be nonchalant over the thought of children killing themselves to escape a much worse death?

Blue nails clink the metal floor, signaling me to sit. "Come, come. The view's nicer from over here."

Cautiously, I make my way to the edge of the building, scooting close to Rhapsody out of fear of plunging to my death, no matter what she said about a force field.

She was right; the view from where we sit is incredible. Buildings nearly topple each other, but not quite blocking the view of the dark, jagged mountains that surround the Capitol. The excitement the vibrant city held during our arrival seems to have multiplied, almost smelling the food and champagne all the way up here.

I look out of the corner of my eyes to see Rhapsody staring at me. Her unnaturally gold eyes survey me like a cat who's stumbled upon a nice, defenseless mouse.

Eager. Curious. Hungry.

She refuses to look away even after I make it apparent I know she's staring at me, so I scoot away from her, uncomfortable with how my stylist is blatantly drooling over me. Doesn't she have a party to attend or a drunken one-night-stand to have?

"How does it feel?" She breaks the silence, instantly closing the distance between us again so she's closer to me than before. My luck with women, I swear.

I shoot her a look of disapproval. She stays her ground. "How does what feel?"

"Being a tribute."

"Aren't you Capitolites too worried about what color to dye your eyelashes to care about us lowly tributes?" I say jokingly but totally serious. I always thought we were nothing more than actors in a very bloody horror film to the Capitol. What would make any of them now care about anything else but themselves when for the past 60 years they've been loyal to the thing that's torn the districts apart?

She speaks cheerfully. "I've always wondered. That's why I wanted to be a stylist in the Hunger Games. To get to know you guys."

"We're human, just like you," I start off angrier than I mean to. Rhapsody doesn't see me as a person, but a shiny new toy she wants to play with. "We have families, friends, loved ones waiting for us to return. But twenty-three of us won't. Twenty-three children will die, Rhapsody, children. When the cannon fires, it's over. This isn't a game. This is real life."

When I finish, I'm shocked by my own voice. Since when did I get so pathetic and defeated? This is not the mentality of a Victor, not at all.

She stammers. Wasn't expecting that kind of response were you? "I-I never knew it was like that. I thought tributes found the Games fun."

My incredulous look makes her instantly rethink her statement, but it's too late. "Fun Rhapsody? Fun? Here, let's trade places. Tomorrow, you can be thrown into the bloodbath while I pick out what color suits you best during your Victory Interview. Green or pink, love?" I mock her, sneering at her constant use of stupid pet names.

She folds her arms, having the audacity to try and use an authoritative tone with me. "You can't talk to me like that."

My harsh laugh makes her jump a bit. "I'm sorry. Did I offend the little Capitolite?"

In a second, the authority in her voice is replaced with the whininess of a spoiled brat. "You're mean, you know that?"

"You wouldn't be all sunshine and lollipops if you were going into the Hunger Games either, _chica_."

She gives a final _Hmph!_ before scooting far away from me. Deflating and feeling all the previous anger wash away, I give a heavy sigh and find myself apologizing when I was just telling her how I felt. You asked, so I told. Sorry if it wasn't to your liking.

"I'm terrified, okay?" I tell her, answering her original question and trying to start the conversation back up again.

Turning around, her half-purple, half-black hair blows in the wind that's starting to pick up. "How about the girl?"

I assume she's talking about Sofia. "Don't know, don't care. I've tried to have as little conversation with her as possible."

Part of that is a lie: while I only say a few words to my district partner at dinner, I have been wondering how she's coping. If anything, no doubt she's worse off than me since she's surely a bloodbath.

It goes quiet again, and the awkward feeling returns. I feel like I've said too much to this Capitolite. She can't relate to how I feel. She's had everything feed to her with a diamond-studded spoon. This ditzy girl doesn't deserve to know the real me when she's supporting my death, no matter how indirectly she's doing it. How dare she make me feel emotion. How dare she.

After a few more minutes of dead silence, Rhapsody places a finger on her chin and narrows her eyes. She must be thinking about something good because she's beaming from ear to ear when she looks up at me, scaring me all the more when I have no idea what could be so great.

What the golden-eyed girl says next takes me by so much surprise that last week's Reaping seems like a walk in the park.

"Wanna have sex?"

Wait, what? Did she just…huh?

My eyes go wide with shock and embarrassment. I try to hide my blushing, but I know I've failed miserably when I see Rhapsody nearly falling off the edge from laughter. Virgo's the only girl that's ever been that forward, and she was just using me for protection. Not like Rhapsody wants anything deeper.

She rubs my arm, still racked with giggles. "You look so stressed Gigi. Whenever me and my boyfriends are upset, we just do it. It's the remedy to all your problems." Bobbing her head encouragingly, her smile carries not a hint of malice or sarcasm.

She does it again. "Boyfriends?"

"Yep," she nods her head happily. "I've only got three. I know, I know, that's barely any, but having five boyfriends was just too hard. The attention, the presents, the sex. Ugh, why bother?"

I look long and hard at my stylist. This girl is serious. She is absolutely serious. Rhapsody is gorgeous, and cute, and the skintight jumpsuit she's wearing is _very_ distracting…but…but…I can't do this. I hardly know this chick. I'm not about to lose my virginity to some horny Capitol girl who wants a five-minute thrill. I'm worth more than that. No way.

Time to start making excuses.

"I barely know you Rhapsody."

"We'll get to know all about each other in bed, darling."

She scoots closer.

"It's probably not the best idea for a stylist and tribute to date."

"We're not dating, just having fun. No one will know."

She scoots closer.

"Maybe we should wait, you know? The timing isn't right."

A seductive smirk spreads on Rhapsody's lips and she pounces on top of me, literally pinning me down on the cold metal rooftop with her manicured claws. This girl's surprisingly strong for someone who's never had to lift a finger before in her life. Her fangs shine brighter than ever, eyes gleaming as they pour over my body with excitement and lust.

"Time is of the essence for you, sweetie. Literally. Now quit playing around and let's get it on silly."

Dragging me up off the floor, she pushes me out the door and all the way to the District Ten level. Kicking open my bedroom door with incredible strength, thoughts race through my head as my stylist undresses herself.

_Oh Panem, this is actually happening!_

_Esteban would have a riot if he could see me now!_

_I sho__uld really be asleep._

_Are all the other tributes g__etting it on with their stylist right now?_

_I'm hungry._

And then it happens.

* * *

><p>I wake up to the beautiful sight of a half-dressed woman leering over me. This is not what I'm used to seeing first thing in the morning, or ever, but hey I'm not complaining.<p>

"Wakey, wakey, Gigi!"

I try to recollect my thoughts and wonder who the hell this is inches away from my face this early in the morning, then I realize where I am.

The Capitol. Rhapsody. The morning of the Hunger Games. Oh boy.

Smiling back, I give her a kiss, then go into a more passionate one. Maybe I have changed this Capitol girl. Maybe she'll see there's more to us than what they show on television. I've made a difference in her life. I can see it in her eyes.

My stylist squeals and twirls out of bed. Running out the room with a wrinkled dress and heels, I don't even have time to speak before the scantily clad figure is out the door. Just before she leaves, I hear her think aloud for the whole Training Center to hear.

"Oh wait till I tell all of my friends what I just did! Doing it with a tribute! I'll be famous!"

Or maybe not.

* * *

><p>The hovercraft ride to the Arena is uncomfortable for three reasons.<p>

The first is the obvious: next stop equals death. There's no getting around that.

Secondly, this is the first time I've ever been inside one. The floating feeling is not helping my stomach any and I'm regretting stuffing my face with so many pastries from breakfast.

Thirdly, Rhapsody still seems to be in Giddy Girl mode, giving me googly eyes and stroking my hand at every chance she gets, ignoring the disapproving looks of the scary white-coated people surrounding us and making me question why out of all people is my stylist the last person I see. I'm a nervous wreck and she seems to be on top of the world.

Well, it beats trying to have a heart-to-heart with Picasso. He's still horrified by my inability identify a fish fork from a salad fork. As if knowing which utensil to use will save my life in the Arena.

When the hovercraft comes to an abrupt stop, I know it's time.

Rushed to the center of the hovercraft now, one of the white-coated figures tells me to stand still. I go to question him when he lifts up my jacket sleeve, but isn't given the chance to when he injects me with a painful stinger. I give him a low growl while he snorts and shoots me an arrogant glare.

Rhapsody walks towards me, still smiling like this is the happiest moment of her life.

"Rhapsody?" I speak, voice shaky and unsteady.

I only had one real conversation with this girl and the majority of it was us arguing and ending with mindless sex, but for some reason, I feel connected to her. Maybe because I like her, or maybe because at this moment, she's my only link to the outside world before I'm thrust into the Hunger Games, but I feel the need to talk to her. I want her to say something, anything, to me to make me feel better about what's about to happen in a few seconds.

"Yah, hun?"

"If I make it out alive, will you and me…?"

A coy smile forms on her face. "We'll see District Ten, we'll see."

This instantly relieves me until I think of another important question.

"Um, where do I use the bathroom in the Arena?"

Rhapsody throws her head back and burst into laughter, causing the others in the hovercraft to roll their eyes. One woman murmurs disapprovingly at the eighteen-year-old girl.

"Out of all the questions you could ask before going into the Hunger Games, and you choose that one." She bursts into more laughter, then controls herself. "You'll still have to pee, babe, but the tracker stops it from coming out the _other_ end."

Before I can respond, a ladder appears and I'm frozen still. Panic sets in but I can't move. Glass surrounds me, and the last thing I see before complete darkness sets in is Rhapsody blowing a kiss.

This is it.

Am I ready?

Not by a longshot.

**I hope I captured the personality of a Capitol teenager well enough. Next up: The Arena! Are you ready?**


	11. Little Impression

**Author's Note: I decided to upload this now since my college has given us a two-day holiday from our classes. Another reason why college is much more awesome than high school. I wanted this published ASAP because my schedule can get very hectic once school starts back up. This is the first part of Day 1 in the Arena. I'm already working on the second part. Enjoy! **

**Chapter 11: Little Impression**

I can't breathe.

The air. The air. It's too thick, too smoky.

Why is it so hard to breathe?

My coughs match the rest of my opponents' as we take in our surroundings, the place we're forced to call Home.

For some, Home will last for days. For others, hours, minutes, and for the very unlucky, seconds. Or are they the lucky ones? They get to escape the insanity that awaits. They won't become unrecognizable to their loved ones. No blood will be on their hands. They're die as the same person they came into the Arena as.

Everything here is gray. Everything.

The sky is a featureless gray. The ground is a solid, metal gray. The 13 buildings that encircle us are unforgiving gray mass of steel. Concrete numbers, going from 1-12, top each building except one, which lies gated and bigger than the other twelve.

Where are the trees? The water? Food? Sunlight? The Gamemakers are heartless, but they aren't stupid. We'll die of starvation and dehydration in here. In Esteban's Games five years back, that's what happened to most of the tributes. It got horrible reviews, so why would they do the same thing again.

Are we inside a building? No, looking up again I see rays of light struggling to pierce through the blocks of gray. Even the Careers look around suspiciously, unsure of what to think of this place.

Then we see them.

Explosions.

From afar, bombs are dropped every few seconds with no plausible explanation as to where they're coming from. So that's why the air is so thick. Each bomb comes closer and closer, yet never close enough to cause any harm. They encircle the buildings, and encircle us. We shake and wobble on our plates, one tribute yelping as he almost lands on the detonated mines perfectly hidden in the slab of metal beneath us.

We're trapped. We're absolutely trapped.

I've been given a horrible view of the Cornucopia, but from what I can see, the only things that lie inside are crates. Big, bulky, wooden crates. The maniacal smile on my face causes the girl beside me to whimper.

This is great, no, brilliant. Usually, the Cornucopia is chock-full of weapons and supplies, but every so often, the Gamemakers like to pull a wild card like they did this year. You devious little bastards, going as far as to toy with your most loyal playthings.

I'm impressed, Gamemakers. Well done.

I take in the 23 children that circle the enormous golden horn, the 23 children that must die for me to return home. The more I try to follow Esteban's advice, the more I remember the small details about each and every one of them.

I can't look at these people as animals when I know so much about them, when we all have something in common. Puppets. Puppets in a play. The wolf pack too. They smile and snicker at us when they'll be disposed of too, once the puppetmasters find new toys to play with.

Radiance is actually poor, at least by District One standards. She volunteered to save her parents and herself from a poverty-stricken life of bottling perfumes for the Capitol. Clearly are parents are as stupid as she is for willingly letting their daughter go into a death match. Valor is even stupider. The arrogant blond comes from a long line of failed tributes. He actually thinks he will restore honor back to his family name by doing the exact same thing that's shamed it in the first. "Sixth time's the charm," I remember him saying in his interview while the insanely annoying Caesar Flickerman wished him well.

Domitia, however, comes from a successful line of Victors. In her interview, she casually mentioned how both her mother, uncle, and grandfather all won their Games. When Caesar asked the giant what her family's parting words were, she said without the slightest hint of sadness: "Don't embarrass us." Orazio played the usual ruthless District Two role while getting a few laughs out of the audience with his orphanage story.

Wanda's asthma must be acting up again, because she's now slumped over on her knees gasping for air. Her supposed district partner Dmitiri is too busy staring at Virgo to notice his fellow Three who's near death before the gong even rings.

Creek apparently worked on the boat that brought crabs to Penelope's shop back in Four. Both made a point to let the audience know that that won't stop them from killing one another when the time comes. The tanned pair is eager to bring back the title of Victor, since District Four is the laughingstock of the Career Alliance, having the least amount of Victors. I add them to the growing list of tributes to beware.

Life expectancy is so low in Five that at the age of sixteen, Nace has a newborn son and Morgana volunteered to escape an arranged marriage to a man twice her age. Nace has more of a reason to live than all of us. He won't hold back, that is if he can make it out of the bloodbath.

Ramona's the youngest tribute here. The quiet girl told Caesar she wouldn't cry, but now she's the only one making no effort to hide her tears and worse, the front of her tights are wet with urine. I can't look at her any longer. Feeling sorry for any tribute will make me soft. That won't happen.

There's apparently bad blood between the Seven pair. Valentino and Cecily dated a few years ago, and even now, they both glare at each other from across the plates. Neither will make it back to the lumber district with their stupidity.

The District Eight boy made so little of an impression throughout training that I can't remember his name. All I do remember is him having a worried look in his eyes whenever he looked at Chiffon like he's doing right now.

Virgo's interview was a complete disaster. The plain redhead tried flirting with the audience when even the shallow Capitolites didn't buy her act. The Cornucopia blocks my smirk while I watch with morbid fascination as her eyes shift all around in desperation, completely ignoring her boy-toy from Three. And Isaiah is an absolute lunatic. His drawn-out story of how he is a part of a religious cult in Nine where dying in the Hunger Games was a way to be "released" got him booed off the stage. District Nine will not have a Victor this year.

Sofia, Sofia, Sofia. My district partner. Her head never stops moving, jerking back from a building behind her to the Cornucopia and back to the building. She makes me dizzy by just watching her. I'm not sure what I feel about Senorita Sofia, and what to do with her. Could I kill her when the time comes? Maybe. Well, probably not. But I have no choice.

Fifi's little buddy from training, Koring, stands to my left, eyeing the same building as me. That's mine, boy. Just because it has '11' marked on it doesn't give you ownership of it. Tottie looks across my shoulder as well. Guess I'll have to race to make it first.

Lavender looks absolutely terrified, being sandwiched between Orazio and Valor. You better run as fast as you did during training, Blondie. Pale-skinned Clay looks far less capable, already having a defeated, glazed look in his eyes. I would too if I came from the poorest district in Panem.

Then my eyes fall on Eli and Chiffon, who have been placed next to each other. My feeling of pure dread is a complete contrast to the look of pure relief they display.

I didn't ally with them. I didn't ally with them! Will they kill me? No, they can't. Eli doesn't have the heart to do it. They spent so much time with me during training. But they know all of my weaknesses. Chiffon is amazing with knives. She wouldn't even flinch as she sliced my chest open, or slit my throat.

No, I must follow Esteban's plan. What if he's wrong? Each Games is different. One strategy for one could mean death in the other. Few tributes have won without some form of an alliance.

What do I do? What do I do?

The gong decides for me.

I turn around and I run. Faster than I thought was possible. Faster than I've ever ran in my life. I feel like thanking Isaiah's imaginary friend in the sky for giving me the strength the move this fast.

**Next up will be part 2 of Day 1. Loving it so far?**


	12. Purple Robed Cowards

**Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone who reviewed, favorited, and made Roulette a part of your Story Alerts. Y'all taking the time out to do that really brightens my day. **

**Chapter 12: Purple-Robed Cowards**

Footsteps replace the expected amount of screams usually heard during the bloodbath.

They're smart. They're avoiding the Cornucopia.

Eventually, a high-pitched screech echoes from whoever was dumb enough not to run, but I'm too focused and absolutely terrified to look back and see who the victim is.

Gotta make it to the building. Gotta make it to the building.

Suddenly, rough hands hit my back and I meet the ground, hard. I look up just in time to see Koring sneer and raise a foot above my head.

No. I can't die. I thought my running improved! No!

"That building's mi-"

Black eyes go wide. Fresh blood squirts from his chest and spray all over me, the metallic bite seeping into my mouth.

A spear is lodged where his heart used to be.

The scream that shoots out of my mouth is louder than the bombs around us. The corpse from Eleven slams to the ground, still holding my gaze. A female voice swears from the distance, and whoever killed my would-be murderer is coming for her weapon, and to make a second kill.

With that, I jump up and make my race towards the Eleven building again, just in time to see Tottie slide her way into the entrance. I continue on anyway. Tottie made a two in training. Fat girl knows better than to not get into a fight, especially not this early in the Games.

Reaching the gigantic building now, the doors slam shut just as another scream is heard from outside. I go for the handle. Not even budging. Again I'm trapped. I don't like this feeling.

This blood is still on me and I got a few scraps on my cheeks. I spit out what got inside my mouth and used the clean part of my jacket to wipe the rest off. Wrapping my arms around myself, I tryto fight off the unbearable cold in here and calm myself from horror I just witnessed. Now I see why we have on these leather jackets and boots.

It's brightly lit in here, much more so than it is outside. Several pathways and doors make up the building, with a metal staircase to the side. Glass windows that I didn't see from the outside make up half of the walls in the further areas. This place looks like one of those factories in the textbooks back home, except deserted. I couldn't imagine being shut up in this cold coffin day in, day out and for the very first time I'm thankful I live in Ten instead of a higher-up district.

Or it could be the fact that I'm now in the Hunger Games. I'll never know.

* * *

><p>Looking up, I have to shield my eyes from the bright light source from up top. This place must have an endless amount of levels because I see no end. What I do see and hear is Tottie's figure moving madly up the levels of the building. She must still be hyped up from the bloodbath.<p>

I'm not gonna fight her, so I stay on the first level to explore. Might as well get to know the place I'll be staying in, however long that may be, and the door's lock shut anyway.

So what do we have in here? Hallway, doors, open, nothing. Hallway, doors, open, nothing. The pattern repeats until I finally give up and rest on the ice-cold metal walls. Where is everything? The supplies have to be hidden somewhere in this place. They can't hide all the goods…in…the…Cornucopia.

No. That would be crazy. That hasn't been done since the 50th Hunger Games, the Second Quarter Quell. And the only reason it was that way because there were double the amount of tributes. They want this season to go on as long as possible from last year's poor ratings.

Ha, Gamemakers! Thinking you can trick me again. Silly, silly men.

Strolling up to the next level, I don't bother to be quiet, hoping to find something, anything in this bare building. It takes me seven more levels and a very angry glare at the Gamemakers to finally stumble upon what I'm looking for. I can't seem to find it, but the aroma is unmistakable.

Running now, I giggle like a mad donkey as the scent gets stronger and stronger. When I burst open the door farthest to the staircase, what lies in front of me is more than I could ever imagine.

Food. Piles and piles of food just lying on the floor. Some I recognize, some I've never seen before in my life. For a split second, I'm paralyzed with pure confusion. Then I dig in. I'm pretty full from breakfast, but what the hell? Each and every bite is more delicious than the first and by the time I've gained some sort of self-control, I'm stuffed.

Gamemakers, I love you.

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

Only a pathetic three, Careers? You gotta step it up guy.

The explosions have slowed down now, coming every twenty, thirty minutes and go farther away with each drop. Crawling to the windows, I take a greedy bite of an apple as I look down on the hilarious sight below.

The hovercrafts carrying the dead away, the jack rabbits are still at the Cornucopia. It's clear that Domitia is the alpha female of the pack, her barking orders while the others struggle with the crates, her burly district partner included. How long will it take the wolves to realize all of their sheep have scattered? With each empty crate they smash open, their frustration becomes more and more apparent. The Gamemakers are really toying with the favorites this year. They've only been given an axe and a spear. No backpacks, fancy weapons, or food this time. Just two weapons to share between six bloodthirsty teenagers.

Not only that, but the Careers are at a huge disadvantage and they don't even realize it: they're completely surrounded. All 15 of us could take out the six biggest threats in the Arena right now.

It's a great idea. For someone else to do.

"Fuck this!" Penelope drops the axe on the metal floor, causing the others to glare at her for making the loud noise. The red tides must be coming in because the District Four girl has been scowling since the Games began. "We're wasting our time Domitia."

The giant ignores the annoying troll, not giving any hint that she heard her whines. Domitia's face, however, barely masks her rage.

Penelope has got to be one of the dumbest tributes in the history of the Hunger Games when she dares to approach Queen Domitia face-to-face.

Hands on her hips, she's just asking for it.

"Did you hear me? This is stupid. I'm leaving." Turning around, she calls for her less-than-happy district partner to follow, and the muscular beast does as he's told.

"Leave and I'll kill you both." Domitia's words have the pair locked in place before she can finish. District Four must be going nuts right about now. Even way up here, I'm on the edge of my imaginary seat. Will the Career Alliance be broken on the first day? It's not a first, but it's definitely not something that happens often.

Penelope and Creek give their leader a look of pure hatred, but know better than to do attack right now. They know where they stand, and it's not at the top of the food chain.

The wolves grow tame again, smashing empty crate after empty crate. The Four pair ignores their leader from Two. They must now get the hint that she could kill them both in seconds.

Eventually, Radiance drops her spear, giving a loud sigh. Besides Queen Domitia, she has done the least amount of work. But Alpha Female hasn't said anything to her. In fact, Radiance seems to have the best relationship with Domitia than anyone else, even Orazio. If Domitia has a soft spot for the sexiest girl in the Arena, I wouldn't blame her.

"Where is District Ten?" She glares at each seemingly windowless building, as if doing that will get us to come out. If she only knew we were all staring right back at her. What I'm more concerned about is her mention of my district.

Maybe she's talking about Sofia, if the rat is still alive.

"Who?" Valor asks confusedly.

"The Giovanni boy. The one who shamed me at the interviews."

Oh. So it is me.

"I swear I got him at the bloodbath, but it was the hideous creature from Eleven instead."

"Who cares?" Valor slams the axe down on the wood hard, shattering the crate into pieces. He growls when it's yet again empty. "He'll be dead by tonight at least. Get over yourself."

Radiance's head snaps towards her district partner so fast, it's amazing it's not rolling across the Arena's floor. "You know you don't disrespect someone's name, _garçon_. Even a gem grinder like you should understand that."

Valor only gives a devilish smirk at what I guess would be a big insult in District One because Radiance looks pretty satisfied with herself when she finishes. "So much mouth, _ma fille_. Come at me you little factory bitch and see if you'll have any more teeth to bite my ass with."

"Do you two wanna continue your girlfight or get back to work?" Orazio breaks up the argument with a harsh shove, almost laughing at the pair who look ready to kill each other already, even though one has an axe in his hand and the other only manicured nails as a weapon. The two from the masonry district look way more amused by their luxury partners than their other two tagalongs, who cower a distance away from them working quietly, too angry and terrified to say anything else after what happened earlier.

It takes a few seconds for Radiance and Valor to stop glaring at each other until Valor returns back to his duty, smashing a crate with enough force to make me jump all the way up here. Radiance laughs at the shorter boy's attempt at scaring her, lazily leaning against the Cornucopia a short distance away from her buddy.

Suddenly, I catch the glint of a knife whizzing from an opening in the Eight building. Orazio only has time to shout a warning before it embeds itself in Valor's shoulder, gushing blood the instant it makes impact.

Besides the Careers, only one person could have aim like that.

District Two immediately leap inside the mouth of the Cornucopia, arming themselves with the two weapons they were given. The others aren't so smart. Penelope doesn't stop yelping until her more sensible partner yanks her down behind the crates he's using as a shield. Radiance looks torn between helping the boy she was ready to kill and making a run for it, and does something worse than both. She stands completely still. It's not until another knife almost greets Valor to his end that she decides moving is the smartest thing to do.

Faster than my Lolita back home, the brown-haired girl disappears into the golden horn, leaving a very scared-looking Creek and Penelope and a very bloody Valor to fend for themselves.

He's gotten the knife out now, but the blood stain gets deeper and deeper on Valor's jacket. He screams at Domitia for help as he runs for the Cornucopia, more terrified than anything. I can't catch her response, but whatever it is makes him shout angrily at her then run off to the nearest building marked One. Everyone else quickly follows suit, Domitia more reluctant than Orazio and Radiance. It takes for the District Four outcasts to hear their supposed allies' sprint away from the shiny target to move away from their safe spot and make a run for it to the District One building too.

Before the door closes, I hear Penelope tell the wolf pack, amusedly and proud of herself, "Told ya we should've left."

The Capitol hounds must be lapping up this scene like thirsty dogs because I can hardly control my own excitement myself. A Career almost killed before the bloodbath clean-up is over. This makes for insane ratings. Like the Hunger Games don't have enough to begin with.

After that fantastic fiasco, things get boring again. I stuff my jack and pockets with more than enough to eat and pass the uneventful hours by exploring the factory some more. The higher up I go, the more food there is in each room. By the twentieth floor, nearly every room is filled to the ceiling with perfect-looking fruits and vegetables. Hm, no meat or anything else. A nice grilled snake would hit the spot right about now.

Stuff that can be used as weapons are thrown around a few rooms. The rakes and shovels would be too heavy to carry around, not to mention trying to attack someone with a shovel would be ridiculous. Eventually, I stumble across a nice sickle that was buried underneath a pile of corn. Hm, not too bad of a weapon. Would prefer a machete, but beggars can't be choosy.

The only drawback to this place is that the higher I go up, the colder it gets. Some rooms have ice covering the walls. Freezing to death would be a stupid way to go out, so I quickly head downstairs.

Suddenly, a loud bang from down below echoes throughout the building. I look down to see what, or who, caused it.

The front door is open.

Panic sets in. If anyone came in, I'm screwed. Just standing here in the hallway few levels above the entrance, I'm easy game. Running now, I stop when I look outside a window and see all the other doors for the other 11 buildings are open as well. The wolf pack are back again by the golden horn, yet separate this time, with Radiance charging into the District Ten building, just knowing I'm there waiting to be killed. The sigh of relief that comes out my mouth couldn't be any larger. Good thing I didn't go with my initial idea of heading to the Ten building.

None of the Careers choose the Eleven building, but standing in the middle of a hallway is just asking for something to happen. While running towards a door, I literally bump right into Tottie. The impact and weight of her knocks us both on the floor. I had forgotten all about the girl, and the look of pure dread on her face tells me she's thinking the same thing, if she even knew I was in the building to begin with.

"P-please don't kill me!" A bright object blocks the view of her face and I take a deep breath, until I realize what it is. Out of all the weapons she could have possibly pulled out, she threatening my life with a squash? Either she's dumber than a mule or hasn't had nearly as much luck as me.

Already, the Games this year is hilarious.

I clutch the sickle that I haven't let go of yet tighter. The dark-skinned girl yelps when she sees this, but is locked in place on the ground. I could end her life right now. I should actually. Tottie will die anyway, and it's better for it to be a quick death than for the Careers to find her.

But…I can't. I just can't. I don't know this girl, but I don't want her blood on my hands. All of District Ten is shouting for me to kill Tottie, I know it, but I've made up my mind. She will live. For now.

"We could b-be allies! I'd take watch every night and Imma…a good listener!" Between her District Eleven accent and desperation to come up with anything so her cannon won't be next, I'm starting to reconsider my decision.

"No," I shake my head furiously. I can see in her eyes that she doesn't know whether to be relieved or terrified by my response. "No alliance. Just go. Now. And don't get in my way again."

Looking like an overweight deer caught by complete surprise, she has the nerve to question my decision. "A-are ya-"

"Go!" I slam the sickle on the floor, metal hitting metal. That makes her get the hint. Still wide-eyed and shaking, Tottie leaps up, gives a quick nod, and I watch what should have been my first kill scatter up, up, up the stairway.

What I did was stupid. Maybe even fatal. But I just couldn't do.

Hours pass and the Arena darkens and yet, I still can't shake the feeling that letting Tottie go was a horrible mistake. Why didn't Esteban send a parachute down telling me what to do? He's supposed to be there for me and I got jack shit! Or maybe Picasso decided to get revenge by purposely not getting me any sponsors. I could see that happening. And it's not like Sofia's useless self would win any Capitolite over either. Being angry at everyone is stupid, so my thoughts wander off into a worse territory: my family.

I can't imagine what they're all thinking now? Is Papi proud of me for letting Tottie live or ashamed that I was so weak? And Mami. Oh, Mami must be devastated still. She didn't even get to say goodbye to her youngest. My siblings and Ivan are there for her, but nothing will do until I come home. If I come home.

Now that I think about it, my family has barely crossed my mind since the train stopped in the Capitol. I've been so wrapped up in strategies and winning the audience over to think about the reason why I'm doing all of this in the first place. I feel sick all of a sudden and tears I forgot existed almost, just almost break their way through. I've never wanted to go home so badly before, to just be around my family. They're the ones that truly love and understand me. Not Picasso, not Esteban, and definitely not Rhapsody.

There's no way to tell what time it is, but it has to be pretty late since outside it's pitch black. Only a sliver of moonlight peaks through the crowd, making me more than thankful I'm inside rather than out there, even if it refuses to warm up in here. With no footsteps or cannons blasting, I double check to make sure the door to the room I'm in is shut tight, since there are no locks on these damn doors. Just as I try to make the best out of this leather jacket and lay on the icy floor that's my bed for the night, Panem's anthem blasts throughout the Arena, making me alert and annoyed again for no reason.

The seal of the twelve-feathered eagle that's plastered around every building and TV in District Ten appears in the air. Time to see who didn't make it through the first day.

Wanda from Three appears first. Can't say I'm surprised by that one.

Nace's face takes me by surprise. He didn't seem like much, but I thought he'd last at least a little longer, with who was waiting for him back home and all.

Koring finishes out the dead and the Panem seal and music disappear as quickly as it popped up.

This is going to be a very long Hunger Games. Whenever the first day's death count is this low, it means the Games will last for weeks. The Capitol was unhappy with how short last year's Games were and the Gamemakers want to please them. Yet another thing the big bad city is punishing us over when it wasn't our fault.

The fact that I'll be stuck in this torture chamber and it's so unbearably cold that I can see my breath makes me hit the ground in frustration. And for some odd reason, I just can't seem to get the District Five boy out of my mind. His child, his newborn son won't even know his father. He'll grow up bitter and angry all because of something his father didn't deserve.

Fuck you Gamemakers! No, fuck you Snow. That disgusting man has been alive since the beginning of the Dark Days and he's still going on strong, still here torturing us year after year. Rumor has it that he didn't create the Hunger Games, but was the first politician to support it. After that, everyone else followed suit.

Curling up on the floor, I allow the sound of the bombs, which I've gotten familiar to, to lull me to however much sleep I can manage.

* * *

><p>I open my eyes, then immediately close them back shut. There is a light shining right on my face, but it's not the ones in the ceiling. This one's bigger, and it flashes. No, glows. Opening my eyes again, I see what it is.<p>

That's not light. That's fire.

The District Twelve building is on fire.

I don't think, jumping back and screaming at the sight in front of me. It's incredibly loud. In the dead of the night, the coal mining building has been set alight. By what though? A better question is, by who? The vibrant flames seem set on the Twelve building only. If this was a natural fire, all of u would be burning right about now. Or at least that's how it is back home. Those purple-robed cowards must have caused this.

The blaze lets me see everything in the building, and see everything I do. Clay from Twelve is fast, but he's struggling. From this distance, I can see the desperation and panic on his face, the gagging that's slowing him down, the long burn on his chest. I don't know why, but I'm rooting for him to live. I want him to get out of the Gamemakers' trap alive. He has to.

Wait, what am I saying?

When I look up, I scream his name. He doesn't hear me. He can't see it. Why doesn't he see it? Look up dammit!

But he doesn't. The gigantic inflamed piece of metal shatters through each level. At one point, Clay is there, almost there to the entrance. Seconds later, not a trace of him exists. I slump down in defeat and frustration as his cannon sounds.

Letting a tribute go and getting worked up over the death of one I didn't cause.

This is ridiculous.

**Still wanna know what Giovanni did that was so bad during the Interviews? You'll find out. Later.**


	13. Cheap Shot

**Author's Note: Long time no see guys! Very sorry for the wait. I've been swamped with college, working, and life. Great news is that the semester is over and that means free time. With free time comes more frequent updates. Enjoy.**

**Chapter 13: Cheap Shot**

Sleep comes and goes throughout the night. Dreams and reality merge into one. The biting cold of the Arena. Clay's last moments replayed over and over in my mind. Tottie. Mami. Maya. Home.

It's not long before I fall into another fretful bout when I awake to the sound of gagging. Opening my eyes and attempting to breathe, it's then that I realize it's me making those awful noises.

Everything's a grey haze. Smoke, like yesterday, is choking me. A faint sizzling sound echoes from somewhere. Breathing heavily, I push open the door and stumble out, catching myself before going over the metal balcony. It's even thicker out here. I do the most logical thing I can think of and make for the exit.

The food in my jacket slows me down, but I eventually make it to the first level. Running outside, I see a heaving Tottie slouched on the ground. Black eyes shift confusedly around the arena as I try to follow her gaze. It's then I see them. I see them all.

All eighteen of them are out here, slouched over, trying to catch their breath, some better off than the others, the Careers mostly.

No bombs. Complete silence.

What's going on? We're all out here in the open, but for what?

By the time a few of us register what's about to happen, all 12 doors slam shut, echoing throughout the metal Arena. My fingernails scratch the surface. It doesn't budge.

Then, the music starts.

It's an odd, chaotic song. Drums blare, sounds blasts. Like a stampede, only louder, stronger, fiercer.

Incomprehensible lyrics play throughout, a whining, high-pitched voice singing the tune. It eerily reminds me of one of the songs played back in the stylist room.

No one moves. We're all too stupefied to do so. What is this? Where is this music coming from?

An axe hitting the gray floor jolts everyone from their trance.

Chaos breaks out.

We scatter like terrified ants dodging the raindrops of a thunderstorm, running aimlessly in the dim daylight. Where to, where to? The Cornucopia? Nothing's there. The wolf pack stripped it bare yesterday. Some hide behind buildings, some engage in battle, some run to the golden horn anyway.

A loud clang of metal hitting metal gets everyone's attention.

The doors are back open.

_BOOM!_

Someone's dead.

The bombs are back.

It's a marvelous melody, really. Feet stomping the ground, bombs blasting all around us, music deafening our ears, grunts and screams escaping our lips. The Capitol hounds must be hooting and hollering over this second bloodbath.

Food keeps falling out of my jacket and pockets, making me both thankful and frustrated. The lost weight gives me more speed, yet I'm losing the only quick source of food I know of. Who knows if I have sponsors, and it's anybody's guess the next time I can return back to the Eleven building, if ever. One orange in particular rolls to the floor and I scoop it back up without missing a step. I must be giving the Capitol a good laugh as I hold however much food I can in my jacket and run like a fat hog trying to escape the hands of its maker.

The Eleven door is open. Yes! I'll return back to my original-

What? No!

Suddenly, it closes centimeters in my face, almost slicing off my foot.

"Open dammit! Open!"

Ahh!

I'm on the ground. Something heavy's on me. The wind was knocked clean out of me, already breathing heavily from the gas and running.

I look up.

Domitia has me pinned down, knees on my arms, nails gripping my wrists, drawing blood. A look of fierce determination is set on her face.

She's silent as she draws the dagger that will finish me off. A simple thing, nothing too fancy. I look at her expectantly, waiting for her to rub it in my face how I'm whatever number on her Kill List. But she doesn't. No last words, no insults, no torture. Just heavy breathing and the point of the blade getting closer to my neck.

She's quick, precise, doesn't fool around. I'm not sure if this is the better way to go out or not. It's too fast, too soon. I don't have time to say goodbye to my family.

But something inside me snaps. I don't know what it is, but I feel it. I feel it all over me, all inside me. Raw, boiling, incredible rage. It's a magnificent feeling. All of the sounds around me does the impossible and slow down and speed up at the same time. I grit my teeth so hard they feel close to breaking. Tears of absolute fury fall down my face. An animalistic roar travels up my throat and leaps out my mouth.

This is not the end.

I will fight.

One of my legs slips under hers. My knee makes contact with her crotch. I guess it has the same effect on women that it does on men because this makes her lose her concentration, but only slightly. It's a cheap shot, but I don't care.

My hands are still locked down on the freezing metal, though her grip has loosened. I slam my forehead into hers, causing the ugly beast to cry out in pain. Now she's off me completely, knife fallen to the wayside, grabbing at her bleeding forehead.

Fight or flight nags me. I choose the latter. I wouldn't win against Domitia, not yet. It's too early.

The majority of the doors are closed now, save a few. Not even bothering to see which one I flee to, the door slams shut behind me. When I feel it's safe, I fall to the floor.

The familiar clang rings again. And as sudden the music began, it disappears. Only the drops of the bombs echo all around now.

When I crawl over to the nearest window, too struck with sheer exhaustion to move another inch, Valentino from Seven and Lavender from Twelve are too preoccupied trying to escape the outside to realize they're the last ones left. Both eventually give up and slump to the ground, tired and defeated. With each second, the bombs get closer and closer, rocking the ground beneath me with a stronger force every time. Lavender screams as debris, ragged pieces of metal and shrapnel, hits the windows of some of the further buildings.

Is this it? Will the bombs kill them off? Will it kill us all off? They're so close now. The flashes are so blinding. Sound envelopes the entire Arena. I can't hear anything else except the bombs.

But they never do reach us. They get close, but never enough to hurt us.

The dark-haired boy from Seven is suddenly on his feet and makes his way to Lavender, determined. He must realize what he must do the same time I do.

If they want to make it out of bombings alive, one of them must die.

The axe sits comfortably in the sixteen-year-old's hands. It's not too big, a crude looking thing, but it'll do. While there's been much more muscular tributes from District Seven in the past, his developing arms and confident posture tells that he's had years of use with the weapon before.

Crying, stumbling Lavender, however, holds the gray pickaxe which is now her only method of defense awkwardly in her hands, like a foreign object. She's never seen one before in her life. I can tell. In fact, she's actually pretty, for a District Twelve girl that is. Healthy-looking, clean. I doubt she's seen the inside of a coal mine.

Wordlessly, Valentino sends the axe down. Lavender jumps out the way, rising to her feet, shaking and nearly dropping her weapon.

The battle has begun.

This will be a short one. It's obvious. Lavender is outmatched. She gets a few hits in though it's clear they aren't enough. Neither kids have the skill or technique of a Career, but Valentino's strength gives him the upper hand. Lavender's speed and height can't make up for her clumsiness. Her strikes are wild and haphazard, barely parrying the swift and stronger motions of her opponent's. The Gamemakers must be pleased because the longer the battle is drawn out, the fewer bombs are dropped until only the sound of clashing metal is heard.

This doesn't feel the same as watching it on TV. I know every year 24 kids will fight for their lives, but it's not real to me. The Arena is just a stage. The tributes are just characters. There's always a hero and a villain in each Games and a good storyline to follow. But this, this is actually happening. This is real life. I still wonder if this is all a nightmare I'm going to wake up from. A boy and a girl, two kids who look like they've never done anything wrong in their lives, who've always played by the rules, are trying to kill each other. Actually, they still are playing by the rules, the rules of the Hunger Games. Nothing's changed for them. They're still the Capitol's toys, one of them about to be disposed of in a few minutes.

The Twelve girl is getting desperate. She's losing control and tiring out, the gash on her leg probably not helping any. Miraculously, the pickaxe manages to sink itself above Valentino's elbow, the boy hollering upon impact. Yanking it out, the prey makes a run for it. She sprints past the Cornucopia. She sprints past the buildings. Where is she going? There's nothing out there.

Sent flying back by a bomb, her back hits the gold-plated horn and she's sprawled on the ground.

Is she dead?

Soft, pained moans come from where the girl lies.

It still isn't over yet.

Assessing his wound, the Seven boy slowly walks to where his wounded prey lies. Blood flows down his bare arm (he must have lost his jacket somehow). The healthy arm carries the axe now. When Lavender sees her predator zoning in, she finds the strength to beg for her life.

I find myself wanting the match to be over, not because I already know what will happen next, but because this is too much. I turn away from the scene, not having the stomach to see what Valentino does next. Watching someone plead for their life is…I don't like it. I don't like any of these. I wanna go home.

"Please! Please! Have mer-"

_BOOM!_

The doors open. I promised myself to not look again, but my eyes find their way back to the windows. I truly wish I didn't. Valentino is struggling to get the axe out of the girl's chest. It's a sickening sound: juices, meat, and flesh swishing and sloshing around. He manages to rip it out of her ribcage, or what's left of it, a wave of blood splashing the Cornucopia in the process and runs inside the Nine building, the closest one to him.

"Giovanni?"

The fact that someone else has been in this building the entire time and hearing my name catches me by such surprise, I accidently scream and grab for the only thing I have for a weapon and turn to see who it is calling me with such familiarity in their voice. My eyes go wide when I see a smiling Eli standing in front of me and, a safe distance away, Chiffon. It's not the fact that I've ran into my former whatever-they-were-to-me, it's what each are holding in their hands that has me still on the floor. Diamond encrusted daggers with teeth sharp-looking enough to cut through steel. Either they got lucky first day in or they have very generous sponsors.

Chiffon strengthens the grip on hers, readying for an attack in case I try anything funny. Eli too, but he's not as obvious. He thinks I don't notice how though he smiles, he can't hide the questioning, suspicious look in his eyes. He thinks I don't notice how the blade, not the handle, is conveniently pointed towards my face. The boy from Six is strange but far from stupid. This is the Hunger Games. He's finally learned that only one of us will make it out alive and has decided to fight. I don't know if I'm impressed or terrified.

"How're things going for ya?" He starts the conversation casually. He never moves the dagger.

"It'd be better if you move that away from me," I knock the dagger with my sickle, clanking metal against metal. Rising up slowly, still recovering from the tear gas and fight, I lean against the wall for support. Chiffon and Eli haven't moved an inch, looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to lash out. If they had an ounce of sense, they'd realize I'm in no condition to fight. And if I was, do they really think I could take on the both of them at once? Not even Valor would risk that at this moment. The good thing is they haven't attacked me. Yet. At least Eli attempts a false smile of reassurance.

"What?" I ask them, irritated by my current predicament and confused as to what's going on. Clearly something is up because Eli keeps shifting his eyes nervously to Chiffon's tense face and back to me. She gives a harsh shrug of the shoulders and that makes Eli immediately relax. By this time, I'm already easing myself towards the first creaky staircase when he calls for me. I make my way back slowly, not wanting to know what they ended up deciding.

When I get back to the front entrance, both of their weapons are nowhere to be found. Realizing this may be a trap, I'm too far away from the staircase to save myself and the door won't budge, so I stand there awkwardly with the pair surrounding me. We're absolutely silent, just staring at each other.

"You got any food?" Eli asks, giving me a nervous smile. He tenses a bit when I reach into my jacket until I throw him what I have left, which isn't much after the run. He eyes it suspiciously, not trusting the item and not trusting me.

"It's a pepper. Don't eat-," Before I can warn him how spicy peppers are, he takes a hearty bite of the vegetable and immediately cries for water. He gulps down his bottle, some spilling out of his mouth. I have to stifle my laugh so they won't think I tricked them until I notice Chiffon is chuckling too. When we make contact, we burst into laughter.

This seems to ease her, though she still keeps her place. "You got anything for me? We haven't eaten since the Launch Room."

I give her a strange-looking object I stumbled upon in the Eleven building. Yellowish, spiky with a green top, I'm not sure if it's supposed to be eaten. If you ask me, it looks dangerous. "I don't know why I've kept this thing with me. It looks pretty cool though. Maybe it's a weapon?"

For the first time since I've met Chiffon, her eyes widen with joy. "My favorite." When she sees we don't share her enthusiasm, she huffs and goes to explain what it is. "A pineapple. Mommy would sometimes order them from the Capitol for our birthdays. They're really sweet."

"You can eat that thing? Spikes and all?" Eli looks confusedly at the pineapple, still waving his hand over his mouth to stop the heat.

Chiffon rolls her eyes. Apparently, that was a dumb question. "Of course not. You eat the inside. Here, try some." With a flick of her wrist, the golden dagger appears from her jacket. Giving the fruit two swipes reveals the golden interior the spiky exterior was hiding. Noticing my own hunger, I bite into my piece, but gag soon after. She wasn't lying when she said this was sweet.

"Good, huh?" She smiles, gobbling down three pieces and handing Eli some more. "Let's go see what we can find in here."

'We'? There's a 'we' now? This is not according to plan. Esteban made it a point to tell me over and over and _over_ again no alliances by any means, but do I have a choice at this point? I can't just walk away from these two, at least not yet. It wouldn't be wise. Chiffon wouldn't allow it, and with Eli's newfound courage, neither would he. So with Chiffon leading the way and Eli behind me, we walk up the metal staircase.

So I guess this is an alliance then.

I can't imagine what Esteban is thinking right now, seeing his tribute disobey his most important rule? If anything, he's probably shouting out words that'd make the most macho _vaquero_ blush. As if reading my mind, a gray parachute strapped with a small box comes from thin air and glides straight into my hands. I have sponsors? Eli looks at the gift curiously and Chiffon eyes it suspiciously, readying herself.

Not even four minutes in and the alliance is being compromised over a stupid gift.

I tuck it into my jacket. I'll open it when they're asleep.

I look up to see the girl from Eight's hazel eyes staring straight at me. "Open it," she demands.

On second thought, I'll be opening it right here.

Nervously, I tear open the box, hoping against hope that what lies inside won't make Chiffon kill me. The sigh of relief I give couldn't be any louder when I see it's only a note. I read it to myself: "_When the time comes…"_

"Let me see." Forcefully, she snatches the white piece of paper away from my hands. Reading the note, her nose scrunches up. The little girl rips it up and throws the pieces over the edge.

"What did it say?" Eli asks us, trying to grab some of the falling pieces.

Chiffon looks directly at me and smiles. "Foolishness, right Giovanni?"

I can't believe I'm letting myself be bullied by a fourteen-year-old I could easily throw over this balcony in one swift move. She's lucky I'm not the Giovanni I am back in Ten or she would've been on that first floor in a heartbeat. Balling up my fists, I give the fakest smile I can conjure.

"Of course, Chiffon."

* * *

><p>We get back to exploring. Chiffon moves like a careful doe, barely making a sound compared to me and Eli's heavy-footed steps. Every so often, she shoots us irritated glances, but says nothing about it. Since we were too scared for our lives to care where we were going, none of us knows what district building this is. At first, we find nothing that would indicate a certain one. Only plastic here and there, scattered about the place. Something we did notice is the brownish stuff that covers everything in the rooms. The walls, the doors, the floors, the few items we see. Eli's the brave one (or stupid one, depending on how you look at it) to touch the shiny liquid and is still confused. I'm beginning to get worried and disappointed at choosing such a lousy building until we open one door and find metal parts everywhere, covered in the same brown stuff. Neither me nor Chiffon knows what these could possibly be, but Eli looks like he's stumbled upon hidden treasure.<p>

We have to stop him from shouting in case someone else is here. "Train parts! These are train parts! We're in the District Six building!"

He digs through the deep pile of metal like a chicken to feed, not caring that he's covered in the stuff he's calling 'fuel oil'. I look over to see Chiffon masking her disappointment with feigned interest in our discovery. What little I know about the transportation district in school is nothing to get excited over. What can make someone so happy over train parts in a place like this anyway? They serve no use here, unless he can construct a train to get us out of the Arena. If anything, I'd think Eli would want to forget about the boring life of constructing trains and move on. Then again, District Six is home for him. Could I blame him for acting the way he is now? He is only a child. I haven't stepped foot in the District Ten building either. Anything reminding me of home would brighten my mood too.

Eventually, Eli gets ahold of himself. He's upbeat now, dirty but upbeat. Taking a few items for keepsake, he heads out the door, motioning for us to follow. "If this is the District Six building, there's probably stuff even better hidden in here."

Now, he leads the way, Chiffon reluctantly following behind us. She doesn't seem too happy over the role reversal. Hours past and although Eli continues to promise there's more to see and refuses to tell us just what that "more to see" is, all we find are more and more useless parts. We freeze when we hear the door slam open and only move when we're certain no footsteps follow. The other problem I have is this cold. I must be getting sick since I have to wipe my nose every few minutes. When I look at my allies, I see they aren't fazed in the least bit. It's then I notice their jackets: it's different than the ones they had on at the Cornucopia, the ones we were all given. They're thicker, better quality.

"Where did you get those jackets from?" The envy in my voice must be apparent because Chiffon gives a light chuckle before answering me.

"The District Eight building. It had rooms full of clothes."

I'm starting to think I made a mistake of going to the District Eleven building, especially when I realize how thirsty I am. I haven't had any water since yesterday. "Can we go back?" I ask her like she's the eighteen-year-old of the group.

She shakes her head. "No. Too dangerous. It's not worth it."

"Says the one with the thicker jacket."

She narrows her eyes, glaring at me like an adult who's had enough of a bratty child. "Would you rather be uncomfortable or dead? You're gonna be cold no matter what. You come from a desert. In Six and Eight, it snows for months on end. Of course me and Eli are better suited for the cold." Eli nods his head in approval. It's decided: we aren't leaving the District Six building, not by choice anyway.

* * *

><p>Night falls. The death recap is short; only two tributes died today. I'm caught off-guard when the first face I see is Tottie. Why am I so surprised? The girl wasn't worth much. Still, I find myself feeling some sort of way with her death. It's…saddening to know she didn't make it I guess. After Lavender, the recap is over. Since there's nothing to make fire with in this Arena, we settle into one of the lower, warmer levels and take shelter in a room with the least amount of clutter. We debate on who takes first watch. Chiffon eventually agrees to it. Eli quickly falls asleep, but I can't. I still don't fully trust Chiffon and she doesn't fully trust me. It's obvious. We both know it.<p>

To past the time, I study the nicer ally of us. Curled up in ball, dirty from head to toe, messy brown hair everywhere, he barely looks old enough to have his name in the glass ball. When I see Chiffon staring thoughtfully at him, neither does she. This is new for me. I've never seen either of them look so young, so vulnerable before. How are they holding up? I gotta applaud them; if I was just fourteen in the Hunger Games, I'd of long since lost my mind.

Besides the occasional far away bomb, it's silent. It's a strange, uncomfortable feeling, one I'm not used to. I go to make conversation with Chiffon, who's silently playing with a thread off her jacket. What do I say to her? How's life? Who do you have waiting for you back home? I know little about her. Her interview angle was to be mysterious, to reveal as little of herself as possible, which I doubt was a struggle for her to do. The one question that's been nagging at me since I met the pair during Training pops up in my head again. I decide it's not worth angering her over.

I start off simple. "Where'd you get the daggers from?"

She turns her head towards me, asking the question when she already know the answer. "Why are you up?"

"Can't sleep," I tell her simply.

Rolling her eyes, she goes back to playing with the loose thread. "District One building."

My eyebrows go up. "You ran all the way from the District Eight building to the District One building? Impressive."

"I waited until the Careers went hunting. Besides useless jewels and makeup, they had a good amount of weapons." With that, she pats the sleeve that holds the golden dagger and smirks to herself.

"Got anything for me?" I say, half-joking and half-serious. At first, she's hesitant, then reveals a leather whip from her jacket.

"Here. We didn't have much time to grab anything else. Make use of it." Catching the lifesaver in my hands, I happily unravel the whip. Pure, thick cow hide. I practice my hand, swatting and cracking the weapon in the air. I can do damage with this. Chiffon realizes this too, looking at me with critical, analyzing eyes. She looks close to taking it back from me.

I hook my whip to my belt. "Thanks."

She shrugs and turns back around. It's quiet once again. I just can't bare it, so I start talking again. This time, I'm bolder, braver. I ask her the question me and undoubtedly the audience is wondering.

"Why him?"

I don't have to specify what I'm referring because she whips around before I can say another word. Angrily, she murmurs, "Don't ask questions."

"Just curious."

Her voice is low and frightening, not matching her young, babydoll appearance. "Curiosity killed the unlucky tribute."

I press on, feeling triumphant that I've finally found Chiffon's weak spot. "He's not even from your district."

She shoots me a look of pure disgust and all the venom in her voice is gone, leaving her sounding like the hurt girl she is. "Leave me alone Giovanni! It's none of your business."

I instantly know what that means, and I know just what way to control her now, in case if or when comes to that. This is good. I'm entering very dangerous territory, I know, but I must play it up for the Capitol's sake. Mostly. I'm enjoying this too. Besides, the cameras are rolling. I have to give them a show, play up the same angle I used in the interviews: rude, nonchalant, cocky. I went against everything Esteban told me to do and I had to hear it from him when I got back to the Training Center. It was a spur of the moment thing, a way to mask my fear. No one can see that. I will not win if everyone knows I'm afraid. I can't disgrace my family like that.

"That wasn't wise Chiffon. Maybe your parents should've taught you that before going into the Arena."

That really gets her. Inhaling sharply, she says nothing more, turning her back against me. I laugh, winning the argument and surely winning over the Capitol's love. The jerk from Ten. They must be eating it up.

* * *

><p>When I wake for my turn to take watch, it takes me a minute to realize what I see. Eli and Chiffon are curled up against one another in the farthest corner, trying to find warmth, trying to find comfort. All I can do is shake my head and laugh to myself at the sight.<p>

The fourteen-year-olds are doomed.


	14. Open Up

**Author's Note: Think of this as an early Christmas/mid Chanukah present. Enjoy and Happy Holidays readers.  
><strong>

**Chapter 14: Open Up**

I'm up before I realize what I'm doing, dizzy as I adjust to the light. We're all up, ready for the gas, Eli a little groggier than Chiffon and I. We wait, tensed, for what seems like an eternity, but the gas never comes.

"This is a strange Arena," Chiffon mutters to herself, slouching down beside Eli and tugging at her blonde hair. I instinctively go to play with my own hair until I realize it was chopped off by Rhapsody. I fiddle with my fingers instead, trying to ease my nerves. It doesn't work.

My stomach agrees with her, so does my dry mouth. With Eli staring at his dwindling water supply, I take a careful sip from it, treasuring the tiny amount I allow myself to drink. Already, we're running low on water. Eli was kind enough to let me share his, but it's hardly enough for one person let alone two. Our food supply is suffering too. I only planned on a party of one when I stocked up two days ago, and most of that is gone. Eli takes two gulps of the water and a big handful of the peanuts I gave him, ignoring my glare.

"You need to better ration out the food Eli. Can't be eating and drinking like you're back home," I try my hardest to keep my voice friendly because I really don't want to hurt his feelings. He chuckles and takes another quick sip of the water to spite me.

"Mother would say something like that, minus the home part of course," he tells me, looking to the side as he reminisce a humorous memory and smiles. It's somewhat of a bitter smile. "Does it really matter?"

Chiffon immediately scolds him, speaking how I'd imagine his mother would sound. "Don't say stuff like that. It's just the sleepiness getting to you."

"I'm sorry." He doesn't mean it. How can he when we all feel that way inside. We all have that little voice insider our heads, the scared little tribute struck with Reaping Day sorrow, telling us the truth, telling us what it will eventually come down to. No one says more on the topic as we start back our search through the District Six building. No one says much of anything really. Only simple, one-word stuff. We aren't in the mood to talk, not even the usually chatty Eli. He doesn't make random remarks like usual. Chiffon doesn't bother to object when she's put to the back of the line again. I don't have the energy to throw out any snarky comments, or the interest.

We stay in uninterrupted silence throughout our search. I'm beginning to give on up whatever it is Eli's looking for in this building, and so is Chiffon. The colder each level gets, the more annoyed she looks with the direction we're going in, groaning at every empty room we find.

"Enough Eli," I'm the one who has to say it. I've lost count on what level we're on. I can see my own breath up here, making me wonder how I'm still alive. "There's nothing here. We'll freeze to death if we go any farther."

He isn't listening, too busy searching room after room. "Just one more level, please. It's gotta be in here."

"What's gotta be in here? Tell us what you're searching for," I yell at him. He's had us on this wild goose hunt and has yet to tell us what we're doing all of this for. I'm tired, cold, hungry, thirsty, and paranoid. I don't feel like him and his bogus ideas anymore.

Eli looks hurt for a moment then explains himself, "Medicine. There has to be more than just parts in this building." As he finishes his sentence, he opens a door to yet another pile of oily parts. He motions for us to follow him up the stairs shivering in the process, but I don't move. Has he lost his mind? District Six produces transportation. Where does _medicine_ fit in there?

"We've climbed at least twenty flights of stairs already. You're wasting my time. I'm heading back to the room. Chiffon?" I give the girl one chance to come with me. I don't actually want her to come along with me, but if she agrees with me, Eli would no doubt follow suit. She's clearly torn between her initial ally who's trying to drag us to our deaths and me. When she turns towards Eli, I don't know why I bothered.

Rubbing her arms for warmth, she's uncertain of what to say first. "Just one more level?" she gives the boy a smile.

He couldn't be any happier with her choosing him over me. He nods his head like a dog greeting his owner and smiles. "Just one more."

"You said that seven flights ago," I interject, though they both ignore me.

Chiffon turns around to look at me, giving me a nod. "We'll be back. It won't take long." She rushes up the stairs to meet her ally, already forgetting I was ever there.

I head downstairs. This is the perfect time to end the alliance here. It'd be easier this way, quicker, no one would get hurt. I could slip away to another building, tough it out by myself, let the other tributes or the Gamemakers take care of Chiffon and Eli. I should leave now, right this second…so why don't I move? Why do I stay in this cramped District Six room we've called home? On second thought, I should stay. Alliances that end too soon never go as good as planned. I could meet the pair again and then what? There won't be any second chances then. And what if Eli really does find medicine? He'd have better weapons and better supplies than me. I can't let that happen. This is making me angry. I don't know what to do.

"Esteban," I look up at the gray ceiling, knowing he's listening. "I need you. Please."

It's too late. Their footsteps are getting closer now. If I run, I'd find a knife in my back. So I sit and try to hide behind the arrogant mask I've created since the interviews. Panem's watching.

"Found it! Told ya they were in here." Eli shouts when they enter the room. In his hands and sticking out of his jacket are piles and piles of colorful wrappers and medical supplies. I immediately feel stupid for leaving. It was just one more flight of stairs, it wouldn't have killed me. And all of that medicine. They have so much!

Chiffon is visibly disappointed to see me, smirking so I won't mistake it. "You're still here."

I smile back, not for a second letting her phase me. "Ain't going nowhere Blanca. Now, sharing is caring." I hold out my hand for the medicine. She tosses me a few packets of something I don't recognize and sits down, going through the stuff they found.

I look at the little amount she gave me and eye the girl. "Don't play me Chiffon. I gave you two almost half of the food I had. This isn't enough," I demand.

She doesn't look up from what she's doing. "Tough."

I really don't understand why she's so mean all of the time, but I don't like it. I won't tolerate it. Eli stops me from yelling at her when he steps in front of me and gives me a handful of some rectangular objects. They're wrapped in shiny green paper and in gold print reads 'Vroom! Vroom! Bar'.

"What the hell are these?" I eye the brightly colored things in my hands. They're pretty heavy to be so small.

"Vroom! Vroom! Bars. They're stimulants." When Eli sees that I have no idea what he's talking about, he starts blabbering on again. "They keep you up for a 3 hour maximum. Then you take one again. The Capitol loves them. There's a skyrocketing demand for it. It's a perfect blend of natural and artificial ingredients consisting of peppermint and high fructose-"

"I get it." I honestly stopped paying attention after the second sentence. I unwrap one of the bars and stuff the rest in my already bulging pockets. It's a bland, white color with a whiff of vanilla. Before I can take a bite, Eli lowers my hand.

"Careful now. They're known for being extremely addictive. My mentor eats them like candy. He's a mess." With that, I roll the open bar close and stuff it in my pocket. I'll use them only when I need them. That may be a lot in this Arena. The energy bars are nice and everything, but I need more than that. That freezing cold was nothing to play around with in this thin jacket. I deserve everything else they found.

"Got some more stuff?" I pat him down like a Peacekeeper, not waiting to hear his lie. This gets Chiffon's attention. As he nervously reassures her everything's okay, I find gauze, a jar of pills the reads 'Pain-Off', and a tube of some cream.

I make sure I sound confident, and a little threatening. "You know, just in case." Just in case this alliance ends quicker than I want it to. I down two pills of the medication to get rid of this throbbing headache courtesy of Domitia from the second bloodbath. I hope that was the right amount to take.

"Let's go back. I want more stuff," I suggest. There has to be more medicine up there.

Chiffon stops me before I can leave. I push her out the way. She jumps right back in front of me. "No. There's no more left."

I stare at her in shock. She has to be lying. "What do you mean there's no more left?"

"We smashed the rest of it."

This is one of those moments when someone says something so stupid it couldn't possibly be true and even after it's proven true, you still don't wanna believe it. "Why in the world would you do that?" I hiss, and then look for Eli to tell me she's lying. He shrugs and nods his head.

She lets out a small laugh and leans against the door. "So no one else will get it, obviously. You may be the strongest of us Giovanni, but we," she points to the two of them. "We're the brains of this little team we have here."

I take a seat far away from the both of them. Pick and choose your battles Giovanni. This cold is kicking your butt anyway. It goes silent, with the pair side by side sorting out their rewards until I bring up another issue, a more important one. "What about the food? Better yet, what about the water? Nuts, berries, and the spit of water we have left won't do us any good."

"Too dangerous. We'll let the sponsors take care of it," Chiffon retorts back. She doesn't sound too confident in putting her health in the hands of a few rich Capitolites.

Always the positive one, Eli adds optimism that even he couldn't believe in. "I'm sure between the two of you, and maybe me, we have plenty of sponsors. And Giovanni, you were pretty high up in the polls before the Games started."

I scoff at the mention of the Capitol polls. Voters have the minds of toddlers, and we have no clue where we stand now that we're in the Arena. "That was pre-Games stuff. Besides, the District Eleven building is filled to the brim with food and I'm sure the District Four building has plenty of water."

We here noise outside. It's not the bombs. It sounds like…water? No, like a river. I didn't see a river anywhere in this Arena. Where is that noise coming f-

Water explodes from the District Four building.

"How bout we go down there and get us some water?" Eli jokes. No one laughs.

There seems to be no end to it; waves and waves of it keeps rushing out, more than what the building could possibly withstand. At one point, a figure appears in the waters. Seconds later, a smaller one is tossed out of the building, spinning in and out of the waves. From this high up, I don't recognize either tributes and the chaos erupting doesn't help any. What I can see is that for the first tribute, the waters are effortless. They shoot towards the near drowning little one like a shark ready to devour its prey. Must be one of the District Four kids. The waters recede, soaking the outer layer of the Arena. Before the little tribute, who we realize is a girl camouflaged in silver paint, can catch her breath, a knife embeds itself in her chest. The corpse splashes down in the now deep red pool around her.

_BOOM!_

Instantly, the water is sucked through the floor. The person who I now know for a fact is Penelope tries to fight to get her knife against the gigantic hovercraft, almost succeeding until she slides off in mid-air from the girl she killed. Slamming the ground with her fist, the Career sprints back inside the Four building.

Chiffon sucks her teeth and shakes her head in disgust. "Like I said, too dangerous. We'll wait two days. There's enough to last that long. If the sponsors don't come through by then, we'll go."

* * *

><p>Two days past and nothing ever comes; nothing good anyway. What they do give Chiffon makes me reconsider the already questionable common sense of the Capitolites: love letters. We're fighting for our lives in here and they're giving us love letters? Have all six of our mentors died or something?<p>

She's been given seven of them so far, all from different people. One was even from a woman. The most recent, reeking of perfume, reads in sparkling blue cursive:

_My beautiful baby doll,_

_ Hair golden like the lace you produce. Skin silkier than all the fabric of District Eight. Eyes that'll put the brightest gem to shame. When you leave the Arena, you'll be mine to treasure. Any desire, need, or want will be fulfilled. The worries of a district dweller, never again my darling. Fight well._

_ Waiting for my wife,_

_ Aemilius Bertonili_

Every time Chiffon receives a letter, she gives the cameras her prettiest smile and thanks whoever wrote to her. In reality, I know she wants to ball up every letter and throw it out the windows. Who writes to a fourteen-year-old like that, asking to marry her? Disgusting. At least this one came with a pack of cookies. Minty ones. They're gross. I'm not in the position to complain. We devour the rest of the food supply and chug down the little water that was left.

Between the free time, the starvation, and the slow dehydration, it gets boring. You never really think about that when you're watching the Games on TV. If we're not killing each other, running for our lives, or trying to find supplies, there's nothing else to do. Plus, these gray walls are slowly driving me crazy. I'm not used to being trapped inside a building all day. The little factories that are in Ten are in the West Village, far away from where I live. I never knew how much I could miss the basic parts of life: total sunlight, blue skies, dirt. The cliché is true: you never know what you have until it's gone.

I've always hated that saying.

Only one tribute died in the two days, and that was from the District Four fight. It was Ramona, Eli's district partner. To my surprise, he showed little reaction. Then he explained why. She had refused to join the alliance. He explains to us that she was truly confident that she'd used her mentor's way of winning, camouflage, to become the next Victor. Called him a "jedlik" right before the interviews, which is apparently a derogatory name for the lower class of District Six. Even in the Hunger Games, the little girl held on to her hateful ways. Such an ungrateful brat.

Since boredom's driving us insane, we talk. We open up. Can't do much else. It's amazing hearing about life outside District Ten. Each of our districts has its quirks, charm, corruption, despair. Eli goes first. He sounds like he's been dying to tell us about his. District Six is basically the heart of Panem's railroad. Cargo, tributes, or Capitolites, everything passes through it. He goes into detail about daily life. It's one of the smaller districts, third to Eight and Twelve. There, trains are manufactured, operated, repaired, and dismantled. The lower-class handles that, he tells us. The middle-class produces hovercrafts and owns the factories. That's the stuff we learn in school. What we don't learn is that the upper-class creates medicine for the Capitol. So that's why he was convinced there was medicine in here. As he spills dirty secret after dirty secret about Six, I keep thinking how much of this is being blocked out right now, how our entire conversation has probably been edited out and the cameras are focused on the others. What Eli's doing is far from rebellious, yet at the same time it's not what Panem should hear.

"I wanted to work in the labs, in the sparkling white buildings across town. Make something of myself. Mother said it was a pipedream but it gave me hope you know?" He stops, sighs, then closes his eyes. I really hope he doesn't start crying.

He starts tearing up.

"I was gonna make enough money so my sister, the older one, could see again. Hours were cut at the job once and things got…unpleasant. She went against Mother and Father's wishes and got experimented on." He sighs. It takes him a few seconds later to continue. "It's been over a year and she's been blind ever since. Guess I'll never get to wear that white coat huh?" He's in Chiffon's smaller arms now, not really crying or saying anything, just moaning a little. It looks odd for her to be doing this. It doesn't look natural for her. Her hands pat his shoulders awkwardly, and she stares off into the distance when she tries to comfort him in what is an attempt at a soothing voice.

To be honest, I'm more curious about this whole experiment stuff than how he's feeling. "Why was she experimented on?"

"The scientists usually test on orphans. No parents, no problem. A lot of people I know volunteer for testing. You get good money for it. Medicine too, the expensive kinds. The more dangerous the experiment, the more you get."

"That's not nice." I can't stop myself from sounding like a toddler whining about a stolen toy. Of course it isn't nice. Panem isn't nice. Why do they hide things like that? There's no point in pretending to be a nice government. What could we do if we found out? Yell, object, get angry? Rebel? We've tried that once and look where we are now.

He lets go of Chiffon and smirks, resting his head on her shoulder. For a brief second, she looks down at the shocking display of affection and stays perfectly still. Is she breathing? With a spot-on Capitol accent, he chirps, "Like they always say in the labs: No better test subject than a human subject!"

Eli doesn't look up to talking about the subject anymore, so I prod Chiffon to squeal about District Eight She's hesitant at first, then talks. It's only on basic parts of her life. "My mother and father own a restaurant by the factories. We make more money than most. Joint ownership will be granted to me and my brother once I return." And that's it. Again, she's full-on Games mode, not revealing much or establishing any friendships. Esteban's probably rooting for her more than me now. That might be why I've only received a damn note since the Games began.

I am genuinely curious about the Eight girl, but more importantly, I need to provide the audience with something. With only one cannon in two days, they must be getting bored. When the entertainment gets stale for them, horrible things happen to us. '"No scandals, juicy secrets, murders, boyfriends?"

With the last part, she gives me a look of fury. "Absolutely none of that is important for you to know," she whispers angrily.

My hands go up in surrender. "Hey, hey now, don't bite my head off. Just asking."

Her hands fly to her hips, clearly not letting it go. "Since you're so gung-ho to talk about District life, how about you share yours?"

So she wants to turn the tables on me. Is it a good idea to talk to these two about stuff like home? Chiffon does have a good point: none of that matter here.

Ah what the hell, why not.

So I talk about District Ten. I don't tell them too much; wouldn't want to get their hopes up of ever seeing it. What I do reveal must fascinate them because they can't stop asking questions. Most of it is answered truthfully. I lie when they start to pry. They don't need to know everything. Their interest shouldn't surprise me; Ten is a gigantic, dry desert. Six and Eight sound like cold, small, cramped places. They're shut up behind factory walls all day while I'm practically begging to go inside after a day's work. Most of the time is taken up by the animals. There's no land to support livestock in Six and food's too hard to come by in Eight to give it away like that.

"District Ten must smell gross all the time," Chiffon makes a face. Eli giggles and fails to hide it when he sees my playful glare.

"It's not the odor darlings. It's the district fragrance of choice," I mock how I'd imagine the lights-camera-action version of Picasso would describe the inescapable scent of manure that sits and settles on any and everything back home. We laugh, all of us, together. We appreciate the moment until we remember where we are. Just for a minute, things felt normal and that's scary. We let our guards down completely and felt comfortable around each other when it's not supposed to be like that. It distracted us.

From the bombs.

From the person whose footsteps were loud enough to hear a mile away.

From the person who ran up the staircases and heard our voices.

From the person who burst through the door, weapon in hand, bruised, ready to fight. Even as they stand right in front of me, I still can't believe it.

"Sofia?"


	15. Kill List

**Author's Note: This is by far my favorite chapter to date. I had such a blast writing this action-packed one. Enjoy! (P.S. I've noticed the recent chapters have been two-word titles. Those must appeal to me or something.)  
><strong>

**Chapter 15: Kill List**

If it wasn't for the shield she's carrying, Sofia would be dead by now.

Before the knife can completely leave her hand, Chiffon leaps towards the girl. Another knife I didn't know she had appears in her left hand the same time her sparkling dagger is scooped up from the ground. Me and Eli watch in complete shock at the scene in front of us: the puny Ten girl bolts down the hallway to escape the charging girl from Eight.

My district partner fighting my ally. Who should I root for?

"S-Should we help?" Eli stutters out, biting at his jacket strings to soothe him. Everyone in Panem knows he won't.

"Hell no we won't help her. It's her fight. She can handle herself," I reply, running my fingers through my hair to distract me.

At least I hope so.

They're further away now. It's a loud struggle; Chiffon's quick slashes bang against Sofia's heavy shield, frantic footsteps struggling to match my ally's graceful footwork. In the room, it's dead silent waiting for her to finish up the girl. You'd think Eli was the one fighting by the terrified look on his face, gnawing his fingernails to the meat. I hope I don't look as bad as him.

I huddle up in my jacket, wishing this all never happened. Why did Sofia have to come and ruin the tiny ounce of sanity we had? Didn't she remember what we talked about before the Games? Don't try to save her. We trained separately for a reason. So why is she here? District tradition is to spare your district partner till the final eight if you both miraculously make it that far, at least in Ten. Of course, not everybody follows the unspoken rule.

"Please! I just want to join you! He's coming!" Sofia yelps, panicked and out of breath. For reasons I can't comprehend, my feet move towards the door.

Eli reaches out to stop me. I easily shove past him. "What in Panem's name are you doing?" Eli cries out, inching further away from the door. This isn't right. Forget what I said before. That girl's blood can't be on my hands. She's home.

Because I'm not stupid to skip my happy self into an armed fight no matter who's in it, I poke my head out the door first. A petrified Sofia is edged way too close to the staircase. Two cuts were scored on her arms. Bleeding, though not too deep. Shouldn't the incredible Chiffon have done more damage by now? If I don't stop this, she will. Either Sofia's gonna be stabbed or pushed down those stairs.

I start having second thoughts. No one in here is family. I'm not dying for anyone. Chiffon looks dead set on killing this girl, not missing a step, and I'm far from her favorite person. What better time to kill two birds with one stone and make it look like an accident? We all have to die some time for her to get out of here. Just as I ease myself back inside, me and my district partner lock eyes.

I've never seen her so happy to see me.

"Giovanni! Help me, please!" she shouts. In that split second, my accidental distraction catches the younger girl off-guard. A howl is let out her out mouth, slammed against the metal wall. Seizing the opportunity, Sofia runs toward me until the entire world screeches to a stop.

Footsteps. Loud, heavy footsteps. They're close, a couple of levels down.

Sofia's voice is a whisper now. "That's him! He's here!" We don't question her. Slipping back inside, the two girls nearly knock each other over trying to race to safety. Out of nervousness, I slam the door shut and position myself to block it, turning around to see a very confused Eli staring fearfully towards an equally scared Sofia. I can't blame him. In his mind, she's the enemy. Technically, she still is. This is just a temporary truce. Eli's mouth goes from open to shut when he's silenced by Chiffon's hand. Blue eyes go wide, quickly realizing what's happening.

He's so loud, stomping and banging his weapon against the metal. Our attacker sounds gigantic. Either it's one of the Gamemakers' traps or one of the Careers ready for a kill. Their movements sound too coordinated to be a mutt. It must be someone from the wolf pack. Something slams hard into the metal sending such violent vibrations that it forces us to shake harder than the walls around us.

"Where are you, girl! We can do this either the hard way or the long way! Or the fun way, your choice!" A male's voice growls dangerously close to our room. It's Orazio, the District Two Career. I've seen what the boy can do in Training. He's a monster. District Two always are.

We're in serious trouble.

Doors blast open by what has to be a sledgehammer by the sheer power he uses. "Only a matter of time, girlie. And I heard someone else with you. Is this a two-for-one deal? How thoughtful of you to think of my Kill List!" A howl is let loose from the boy. He's enjoying this far too much, even if he is a volunteer.

The blasts are getting closer and closer. It's only a matter of time before he reaches us. I look around the room, gazing at my allies. We're all thinking the one thing that's crossed our minds since the start of the gong: Is this is? Our time to die? Eli and Sofia have completely lost it, visibly crying, silently sobbing and hiding their heads in their knees. Eyes watery and lips trembling, at least Chiffon is strong enough to keep herself together. Something wet covers my face. My rough hands wipe it away. Tears. I'm crying too. I hate crying. Men don't cry, Papi always said. I have to do something. I'm not going down without a fight. Even if it's a lost cause.

BOOM!

Vibrations rack my body again. He's reached our room. "Do we have a winner?" he cackles, bringing the hammer down again and again and again.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

What do we do? What do we do? My body can only hold against his blows for so long. Any second and he's going to kill us all.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

I look at the weaker people in our alliance. They're useless, no help to us. Maybe if I could get Orazio to kill them first…no, that would never work. I'm trapped. There's no way I could get around him.

BOOM! BOOM!

My head snaps towards Chiffon. She looks just as determined as me. I have an idea. Let's hope she understands me. A silent conversation begins.

_We must do something!_

_Like what? I can't hold him off forever!_

Bolts fly into the air, hinges coming unloose. The top half of the door is ripped open. Thinking for a moment, her eyebrows go up. With a finger, she mouths the countdown.

_Four._

BOOM!

_Three._

BOOM!

_Two._

BOOM! BOOM!

_One._

I'm out of the way the exact moment Orazio swings his hammer to the ground, and the exact moment the dagger sinks into his neck. Incredulously, the animal rips it out like a splinter and throws it out to the side, narrowly missing my head.

He's still alive! He's still moving!

This time, two knives dig into him, one in his chest and one in his back. Swinging his weapon wildly in the air, he sinks to his knees and crashes to the ground.

_BOOM!_

Everyone sticks to the walls, as far away from the boy as possible. No one wants to be near _that_, out of fear, suspicion, or plain shock. With the bombs going off every now and then, it's hard to pick out the cannons. No one wants to risk seeing if he's really dead. What Chiffon does risks is getting her weapons before it's taken from the body, snatching the sparkling, reddened daggers out of her kill and leaping back to her safe spot. Windows open. The familiar sound of the deafening hovercraft surrounds us, a metal clamp dragging him out.

As he makes his bloody trail to the hovercraft, it's hard to believe that someone is mourning over his death. That before he was a tribute, Orazio was a normal boy. That the Career, who's now just a corpse ready for its coffin, meant something to someone in District Two. In their eyes, he isn't the monster, we are. Maybe he had parents, siblings, neighbors, a girlfriend even, rooting for him to win.

But we all have those waiting for us back home. What made Orazio so special? Why should we die to make complete strangers happy?

"This alliance is too big."

The shock of it all has barely registered in my mind when I see Chiffon turning the knife back on her former opponent. This time, the sickly-looking girl isn't the weakling she was before.

"Wanna add more to your Kill List already?" she spits, laughing hysterically.

"Shut up!" the Eight girl screams, losing her composure just for a second.

"Chiffon," a trembling hand lies on the girl's shoulder. "Please. We've seen enough for today."

It's my turn to intervene. My first plan was to grab the dagger until I realized how that would've turned out. Taking a risk I doubt's worth it, I walk over to the scene to talk Chiffon out of this. With my mask set, I do my best to assert control and win back the Capitol's favor. "Before you kill her, think of her use. She might have been in buildings we haven't explored yet, could tell us which ones to avoid. Girl," I bark. "Give me your backpack."

Wow. I really sound convincing.

Confusedly, she tosses me the bag. I was never nice to her, but I was never _this_ mean to her either. Still eying the girl suspiciously, Chiffon doesn't put down her weapon until I'm opening up the bag. In exchange for her stuff, I toss Sofia the tube of cream in my pocket and a thing of gauze. "Stop the bleeding and put that on your wounds," I command. I'm not actually sure what the cream is for. She does what she's told, trusting my word. As long as I'm not the guinea pig.

The contents drop to the floor as I dump out all that's in the pack ."Hey! Be careful with my-" My finger silences her. I continue on. Two water bottles, dried mango, and a tightly knotted sleeping bag. Not bad for a Community kid. Opening one of the bottles, I take several gulps, ignoring the odd look Sofia gives me. This water is off-tasting, sweet. Fragrant too. I can't put my finger on it. I've smelled this before. The thought is tossed to the back of my mind. I'm not in the position to complain about free water. Chiffon takes the bottle and does a much better job pacing herself, getting a few sips in before screwing the top on. Eli catches the other bottle I designate for him and Sofia to share. Slices of the mango and what's left of the nuts make for what should be lunch. It's hard to tell the time of day in here when the only two weather options are cloudy and pitch black.

Now that we have enough water to last us, it's time to stock up on food. "Let's search the Eleven building. We won't last long if we don't venture out." And just like that, the position of power is shifted to me. Everyone follows towards the door. Except Sofia.

"Wouldn't that be too dangerous?" the frail girl questions, staying in place. "With the four of us, I'm sure we have plenty sponsors. I mean, we just took down a Career!"

A weak smile forms on Eli's lips. "I said the same thing two days ago and look where that's gotten us." Shoulders slump, the fourteen-year old zips up his wool jacket and leans against Chiffon. "Let's just get this over with."

Sofia, clearly disappointed, tries to come up with another idea. "Can I stay here then? I'll guard our stuff." Her suggestion falls on deaf ears. Or rather, angry ears. Between the ridiculous request and Chiffon's face, I let out a badly needed laugh.

The blonde looks ready to attack my district partner again, stepping inches away from the older girl's face. "Do I look stupid? I don't like you and no way do I trust you. For you to even believe that what you said made any ounce of sense makes the question as to why you're still alive harder than it already is to answer," she folds her arms, triumphantly. "And everything we have is in our jackets. Since when was it "our" stuff?"

* * *

><p>So the four of us head to the District Eleven building, me leading the way and Chiffon guarding the back and "watching" Sofia. While we walk down towards the entrance, I ask Sofia what buildings she's searched through before meeting us. I'm curious how the other half of District Ten's been holding up since the start of the Games. When she describes just how bad it's been, my time here sounds like a dip in an oasis compared to hers.<p>

"Let's see: I went to the Four building, got chased by the Careers, fled to Three, would've found an arrow in my back during the second bloodbath if the Eleven girl didn't accidentally get in the way, was almost ripped to pieces in the Ten building, had to bargain with that insane boy from Nine to save my life, and Orazio chased me here. " Finally finishing, she lets out a big sigh. "May the odds be never in my favor."

"Wasn't Isaiah the one who made that vow to "not hurt a soul" during his interview?"

"Who?"

"The Nine boy."

Sofia snorts. "That went out of the window when he nearly choked the Five girl to death. And I overheard the Seven pair talking a few days ago. I guess they're back together." She makes a disgusted sound then continues on. "The Careers are a pack of donkeys this year. Dumber than a bag of rocks."

From behind, I hear a dramatic gasp. "Oh how the Capitol must be talking!" Eli exclaims in a spot-on Capitol accent.

Chiffon lets out a giggle, laying on the sarcasm thick. "I'm sorry. I was too busy fighting for my life to keep up with the latest tribute gossip."

"How deprived we are!" I fake a worried tone and we laugh. The happiness is over the minute we reach the entrance. The feel of the air is what first hits me when I open the door. These metal walls have been my home for so long that I've forgotten how horrible it is out here. Thick, suffocating, polluted air. I wonder how Eli and Chiffon stand it in their districts. Our trip to Eleven goes smoothly, though I'm on pins and needles the whole time, mentally cursing at myself whenever the metal floor squeaks too loud or freezing when the slightest sound is heard. I'm a little more hopeful when we reach the building, until I open the door.

A horrible, putrid scent greets us inside. The scent of food. Rotting food. It's so bad, we have to breathe through our mouths. We trek on. We've gone too far to turn back. Making my way to what I remember the first level I found the food on, I have to stop myself from shouting when I see what awaits us. Rotten scraps just thrown around each room are all that's left.

"Well," Eli kicks a moldy stock of corn out the way. "When you said there would be food, I expected it to be edible."

"Shut up," I unconsciously snap back. "It was fresh the first day."

"Keywords: First day."

"They can't have an entire building filled with rotten food. We'd starve," Chiffon intervenes. I wouldn't put it pass them. It's been done in past Games. Before I was born, one in particular had where the only food source came through sponsors. The tributes didn't last long that year. "The better food's probably up top like the other buildings."

Our search continues, trudging through the piles of garbage, flies, and maggots. On the 17th level, there's finally food to eat. Most of it's half-frozen, but edible. Scavenging whatever looks good, we stuff our jackets, estimating how much we'd need to last until the end, the end of the Games. I sneak more than a few bites of a peach, savoring the ice-cold juice that gushes out. Now I won't pretend I'm from District One. Food doesn't come easy in Ten and there's been plenty days where a bowl of _avena_, a simple oatmeal dish, was the only thing there was for the day. However, this is the Hunger Games. This is a game of who survives the longest, no matter what the name is called.

"Should we check the Nine building? Their product is grain," Eli says, munching on a head of lettuce. "And don't you guys produce meat?" he addresses me and Sofia.

"Livestock," I correct him. "This should be enough to last us for a while. We'll hit up Nine and Ten if we run out."

"Don't go to the Ten building. It's infested with mutts. I know from experience," Sofia warns. I don't get the time to reply. We hear something. No one breathes. There it is again. My whip and sickle are in hand. I'll be prepared this time. Chiffon's head motions to the door for me to follow and she pounces into the hallway. Since when did I become her sidekick? That was Eli's job. Once outside, we figure out the noise is coming from below. Inch by inch, our creep leads us five stories down. It's footsteps and they're loud. Whoever it is, they're not trying to hide their presence. It's like they don't know a pack of tributes are ready to kill them. Maybe they don't.

_Ready to kill them_. It suddenly dawns on me that we're about to kill. Again. Allowing a fifth person into our alliance is out of the question. So what other choice do we have left? I'm not prepared for this. I'll never be prepared for this.

We're to the door. Hesitating, our eyes scan each other's face before going in. No one looks up to this, but it must be done.

_Now or never._

Virgo lets out a horrified scream when we enter. Whimpering, begging for her life, all of her feistiness has vanished. This is nothing like the flirty, bubbly Virgo that failed to seduce the crowd during the interviews. If I didn't know otherwise, this would be the last person I'd guess would try to get into my pants during training. Now, the girl looks barely eligible for the Games, jacket we were all issued swallowing her up.

"P-p-please! I just w-wanna live! I'm innocent!" The sword she pulls out says otherwise. We all back up then, Eli and Sofia fleeing the room. So it's just me and Chiffon then.

"Where's Dmitri?" I ask. Both girls pause, stopping their staring match to gawk at me. No doubt they're wondering why it matters and why I'm referring to the Three boy on a first-name basis. Moments before killing her probably isn't the best time to have girl talk and chit-chat about her relationship status, but I'm just curious. From what I remember, he hasn't been on any of the death recaps and he stuck to the Nine girl like a fly to manure all throughout training.

Quizzically, Virgo frowns, contemplating whether she should tell us. "The bastard left me the second day, during all that chaos," she shakes her head fiercely, regretting her decision. "None of that matters now! Go away!" Thinking we actually planned to listen to her, the sword swings in our direction. We easily dodge the blow.

"Can't do that. Sorry," is all Chiffon tells her. The two circle each other, the blonde sturdy and secure, the auburn shaky and terrified. Making sure I'm a safe distance away, a peek to the entrance shows Eli and Sofia's heads peering in, watching the show unfold. Once the first strike is dealt, it's like Valentino and Lavender all over again. Virgo's weapon may look nice, yet nothing can make up for how awful she is at fighting. Realizing how this will turn out, Virgo takes off, accidentally dropping her sword. She must be panicking because though this is a big room, it only goes so far.

A chase begins. Running around in circles, Chiffon demands the girl to stop fooling around. Virgo only yelps and runs whenever she's close. This looks like a fun game of tag between two kids and it still is. The only rule change is pretty simple: loser dies.

And I thought loser cleaning the pig stables was bad.

This drags on for several seconds. They can't keep this up forever. Virgo is tiring. More importantly, Chiffon is too. This fight might not end as planned if something doesn't happen. If I don't happen. Taking a deep breathe, I loosen my whip.

_Now or never. Now or never._

CRACK!

It catches on her back, the force of it so strong, flesh is exposed. It's an awful feeling, getting whipped. Had it happen to me once. Years back, Papi was trying to tame the bulls. I didn't listen to his warning, got in the way, and still have the mark to prove it. She hits the floor, screaming and squirming from the raw pain. Like a nervous lamb to its first shearing, Virgo's fists and feet spasm crazily in the air, at me, at Chiffon, at the Gamemakers.

Suddenly, she faces me and lets out a laugh. "Who knew you had it in you to make it this far Giovanni?" Another laugh is let out, throwing her wild strands of hair back. The joy turns into despair. "Fuck you Giovanni! I hope you die District Ten. I hope you die!"

_BOOM!_

Chiffon takes the knife out of the girl's chest and leaves, silently thanking me with a brief smile as she passes.

"Guys! We gotta go! Someone else is here!" I hear Sofia.

My attention's now focused on this new emergency. "Where?"

"From above! Let's go!" We dash to the exit and practically burst through Eleven's entrance. Who knows who else, or what else, is in here. District Twelve is the closest, but we skip it. The building looks spotless, virtually untouched now, making us almost forget the inferno it was the first night in.

"Should we head back to the Six building?" Sofia says, out of breath while we try to find somewhere safe to hide.

"No. The Careers probably got suspicious after Orazio didn't return from hunting. We should go to the Eight building. We know our way around," Eli answers. We trust his word, it being the safest option we have at the moment.

Once we settle in, I notice a change in the group's mood. At first, I refused to acknowledge it until it became unbearable. It's Virgo's death that's still on our minds. With Orazio, he came to us, hunted us down, made a game out of it. We only killed out of protection. This time, it was different. Virgo was our victim. We sought her out and killed her, didn't stand a chance. We were her Orazio. What's bothering me the most is her final words. She blamed me for all of this! I didn't even deliver the final blow! If she was smart, she would have heard four tributes coming for her long before we reached her room. No wonder District Nine got booed this year. They're a pathetic pair.

* * *

><p>Courtesy of the Gamemakers, night falls unnaturally early. Taking a sip of water, I go to rest on a pile of clothes in the corner of the new room we're calling home. We've provided enough entertainment to satiate the Capitol for the night. Sofia offers to take first watch until Chiffon quickly shoots her down and assigns the position to Eli. They can fight over that by themselves. I've had enough for today.<p>

* * *

><p>In the middle of the night, a nightmare startles me awake. Rubbing my eyes, I look out the windows from my makeshift bed. It's much later. I didn't wake up at all. That's odd. I've always been a light sleeper, waking up at least twice a night. Still curled up in my jacket, I freeze when I hear voices. I can't make them out. Both are whispers, so as to not wake up me or Sofia, who's happily snoring in her warm sleeping bag.<p>

"Should we kill them now?" I almost expose myself when it's Eli I hear asking the question. He and Chiffon are cuddled together by the door, backs towards me.

"Not now. Today's been awful enough." For once, the Eight girl sounds like how a fourteen-year old should, given the horrible place we're in: scared, vulnerable, needy. "Hold me Eli, please. You make me happy."

Just imagining how red his face is when she buries her head into his chest instantly makes my eyes roll. "Thanks. You make me happy too."

Closing my eyes again, sleep doesn't come easy this time. How can it when I'm in a room with two people plotting when to kill me? Two people I actually grew to like. To trust.

Finally, I understand why Esteban told me not to make any allies.

**Reviews make my day. Just sayin' yo.**


	16. Breakdown

**Author's Note: I didn't intend for me to take three weeks on this, but college can be quite unexpected at times. With that said, I hope you enjoy this update. Thanks again God1801, carmencielle, KayliBunnayy, and eliffon fan for always reviewing. You have no idea how much my day is made when you guys leave a review. :)  
><strong>

**Chapter 16: Breakdown**

Having a fourth member to our alliance feels odd. Before, we had a system going: I was the brawn, Chiffon was the beauty and technique, and the few times it showed Eli was the brains. At least that's how I thought it was. We weren't the smoothest machine, but we were efficient enough to survive this long So where did Sofia fit into this equation? I could take her out in seconds, she doesn't have a lick of sense, and no amount of makeup and Capitol wigs could disguise the effects malnourishment and neglect has had on her body. She's given us food and water and has told us what she knows. My district partner has maxed out her usefulness. I know it, she knows it, Eli and Chiffon know it. Yet here she still is, alive, tagging along with us. Honestly, I don't know why. She's just another mouth to feed, another person to watch after. Always uneasy, Sofia can see it in our eyes what we think of her, how she knows she's the weakest link in our alliance. Sleeping with one eye open, nominating herself to take the back of the line whenever we go searching for supplies, it's obviously only a matter of time till things fall apart.

Sometimes, I contemplate killing Sofia: quick, easy, in her sleep. Every time I raise my sickle, the guilt begins and I falter. I feel like a terrible person for thinking such things about another human being, and someone from home no less. No matter how much I hate the feeling, I can't shake it. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Killing them was supposed to be easy. Simple. Like Esteban said: I'm the rancher, they're the cattle. Now, there are all of these ridiculous emotions attached to each cannon: fear, remorse, regret.

Regret. I think about the word. It's a stupid feeling to have in life, especially when in the Hunger Games. What's done is done, nothing can change the past. Yet the feeling haunts me. Tottie, Virgo, even that monster from Two. Blame feels scratched into my heart. Worse, the thought that I should've done something keeps popping up in my head, no matter what rational, logical part of me reasons out that my cannon would've been next had I'd done so.

Fear. I am also afraid. Nothing has been good since Picasso pulled my name out of thousands days ago, obviously, but now I know my allies, my teammates, my _friends_ want me dead. It seems too soon that it has come to this. Why not a few more days or when someone of our group dies? That'd be a good time to end this. Yes, I'll be ready then, ready to leave my-no, they're not my friends. They're only tributes in the way of me winning. I have to keep telling myself to believe it.

Day in and day out, I obsess over what to do. When to leave, who to trust, what to take from them and what not to take. I ration out the food and guard the water now, not trusting Chiffon or Eli anymore with it. The paranoia's gotten so bad that now I can barely say two words to the pair without getting more suspicious of their actions. Sofia I could care less about. She's about as big of a threat as little Wanda from Three ever was.

One day, the traitors are in the corner whispering to each other. They seem to be arguing, Chiffon leaning against the wall for support. Eyes never leaving them, Eli's the one that approaches me. His pearly whites gleam in the artificial lights bolted in the ceiling, attempting to pat my back before he notices the look I give him.

"You wanna talk? You seem kinda-"

"No."

His face, still covered in the oil found in Six, scrunches up for a bit. The winning smile is back. "You sure?"

"Positive."

I turn around to wrap myself up in the new, warmer jackets we found, ending the conversation. Waiting for him to take his place across the room, I lay down on the floor to rest when I hear him walking away. Lately, I've been feeling exhausted. This isn't the tired-after-a-long-day kind. I know how that feels. When is a day not like that in Ten? This is the sickly kind of tired. It's an awful type of sick too, the kind where you feel dizzy when you stand and your entire body feels like it'll give out at any moment. Every morning takes me longer to wake up. Searching has gotten more difficult too. Before, I could go for hours when now thirty minutes is a challenge. It's gotten to the point where I'm fighting my eyelids to stay open and when I'm not talking, I'm yawning. At first, my mind instantly accuses the Six and Eight pair of poisoning me until I witness Chiffon overcome with the same symptoms. Right now she's preoccupied with aimlessly pacing about the room, trying to fight off the sleep.

Strangely enough, it's only me and her that have come down with the syndrome. Eli and Sofia look fine. I can't place my finger on what could've caused this. Did we eat something bad? Everything I've had since the Games began seemed and looked okay. Maybe it's simply the Arena taking its toll on us. Out of the four of us, me and Chiffon have taken the most action and stress. It must be that. It's the only logical explanation. No one said fighting to the death was going to be relaxing.

I take a swig of the sweet-tasting water to clear my thoughts and almost drop the only source of water I have when the music from before begins.

It's that time again.

So we must be boring the Capitol. Blood hasn't been spilt since Virgo's cannon and that was three days ago. Guess our bickering and silent distrust of each other can only entertain for so long.

Panicked, I try to alert my sluggish body to respond to the gas that's soon to follow. By the time I make it to my feet, the others are already out the door. Forcing my legs to move, I shuffle out of the doorway to see my allies racing down the stairs, Chiffon trying her hardest to keep up. When I reach the staircase, it's then I realize something. There's no smoke. Last time, the buildings were filled to the brim with it before we could leave. Now, not a bit of it is here. This doesn't feel right. Something tells me to stay inside.

"Guys? Guys?" I call out to them. They're a few levels down. I can't see them, but I can hear their loud footsteps, still beating against the metal floor. My voice must've snapped them out of their panic because they abruptly come to a stop.

"Giovanni? That's you? Why aren't you coming?" shouts Eli from below. The music is nearly drowning out his words.

"Don't go outside."

"What?"

"Don't go outside!"

It's silent for a moment, in what's supposed to be singing blasting through the Arena, and then they move back up the staircases.

"Why not?" Eli continues our conversation when they get back to the initial level we were on.

"The smoke remember? There's no smoke this time," I explain to him.

"Guys! Come here! Look!" Sofia's by the window, pointing to something outside. Reaching it, we see Dmitri from Three racing out the Twelve building, smoke spilling out behind him. From the Two building, Radiance is shoved outside the door, coughs not stopping her from giving her fellow Careers a death glare. I wouldn't be too surprised if they're starting to turn on each other. Usually the Career Alliance would be breaking down right about now. Sometimes earlier. Last year was a prime example of that. And with so many of us still running around, it's a wonder the Gamemakers have let the wolf pack still roam together as a group.

My eyes find the District One Career preparing for battle. The Games must have been easy on Radiance. She looks virtually the same since the last time saw her and the other Careers stalking the Cornucopia eight days ago. Hair in place, clothes neat and tidy, striding with an arrogant grace, she is groomed and ready for her crown and Victory Recap interview with Caesar. I can't imagine what I look like to the viewers. Actually, I can imagine exactly what I look like: haggard, unkempt, a total mess. The idea of my Opening Ceremony costume flashes in my mind and I laugh a little at the thought.

Bombs picking up to signal the Gamemakers' impatience, both tributes reveal their weapons as the music comes to a stop. Radiance drops several spears on the ground, balancing a sturdy wooden one that I recognize from the Cornucopia between both hands. We're surprised when Dmitri pulls out a bow and a few arrows from his impractically large backpack. I don't remember him spending anytime at the archery station during training, too lovedrunk on Virgo to pay any attention to survival skills, and tributes from the technology district aren't known for their physical abilities. Still, he came prepared and that has to mean something. Just as Radiance readies to launch, the rat-faced teen presses a button on his wrist and he's launched into the air, spear narrowly missing his feet and instead flying out into the smoky abyss. Shock and amazement is felt through the group as his backpack explodes into a gigantic parachute. Suspended and floating in the air, Dmitri yells with glee.

"How do you like that, District One!" he shouts from above, launching the first set of arrows.

"That was unexpected," says Sofia, roughly playing with her earlobes, a nervous habit of hers I've noticed since she's joined us.

Only for a second does Radiance reveals her bewilderment at the sudden role reversal before dodging the arrows with ease. The Capitol must be speechless, seeing a lowly District Three outsmart one of their most adored districts. However after the first four shots, it's clear the Three boy has absolutely no idea how to use the weapon, wind and debris from the bombs flying each arrow off-course. Radiance realizes this too, slowing down her movements and eventually coming to a complete stop. Even as the brunette stands perfectly still, Dmitri's aim is all over the place. But he never gives up. After an arrow bounces off the Cornucopia, he reaches into his bag to find no more left. Though I know what this means for the Three kid, I have to give the boy some credit; the parachute idea was a pretty smart thing to do in the beginning and no one expected him to last this long in the Games, let alone in a fight against a Career.

Radiance laughs at the boy's failed attempt to kill her and covers her face with her hand, shaking her head in amusement. "Now that that's over, let me show you how to properly strike a moving target." Flipping her long ponytail back, she grabs a spear and launches it into the air. Dmitri screams at the top of his lungs, guiding his parachute to the left, barely dodging it by centimeters.

The brunette shrugs, giving him a small clap. "Not bad, not bad. But I have five more." This begins a deadly form of target practice, Dmitri miraculously escaping every near precise throw Radiance has. When she realizes that she actually needs to use the sixth and final spear on what should've been an easy kill, the Career doesn't look so confident anymore. With a frustrated thrust, the wooden spear from the Cornucopia soars through the air with all its might and skewers Dmitri straight through the chest, raining blood down on the ground to decorate it a deep red color. Its impact is so great that it propels the boy through the District Ten building, body smashing and shattering through the glass windows. The very faint sound of rabid mutts can be heard escaping the giant hole as his cannon echoes throughout the Arena, signaling the bombs to drop at a slower pace. Radiance floats back into the Two building and a hovercraft soon picks up his mangled body. The show is over.

"You sure pissing her off was a good idea, _amigo_?" Sofia jokingly refers to my interview, feeling bold enough to approach me in such a way. Back then, I made a rash decision and fabricated a ridiculous story that me and Radiance had a "scandalous night of passion" the day before the interviews. It was at the end my three minutes, and I needed something the Capitol could remember me for, and remembered me they did. They ate it up like chickens to feed, demanding more as my buzzer went off. I set off such a commotion that no one noticed or cared that Tottie had made it to the stage. Now, I realize just how _awfully _stupid that was of me. I had already rejected the Careers' offer, and then I had the audacity to ridicule them on live television. Radiance and Domitia has been after my blood ever since. But between just witnessing a guy fly through a glass building and fighting the urge to pass out, I'm in no mood to laugh at my mistakes.

"Suck on a horse, _punta_," I wave her off, walking back inside the room to rest. Plopping down on my makeshift bed of clothes, I give my allies one more look-over before I succumb to the exhaustion, barely able to move another muscle.

* * *

><p>It's later in the day when I wake up, or should I say, regain consciousness. Sleepily, I sit up to get a look at what's going on. Knees curled into her body, whatever Sofia's talking about must be something important because she looks very concerned. Eli, nodding understandably at each word she speaks, looks equally as invested into what she's saying. Usually, they keep their distance from one another. I don't ever remember them saying anything to each other, so a full-on conversation is a feat in itself. Chiffon's head rests in his lap, sleeping silently while the other two converse. By the way Sofia looks down uncomfortably at the blonde, she had no idea the pair was this close. The open, free display of affection is surprising. They must be at that stage where they don't care what the Gamemakers or the Capitol thinks of them. Tributes always get this way when they realize they won't be coming home a Victor.<p>

"And they just left me there," my district partner sighs, looking down at her worn boots. "I never saw them again."

"That's terrible. How could they do that?" Eli exclaims, shaking his head in disapproval.

Yawning, I try to stand. My legs feel ready to give out, so I sit back down to recuperate. Eli and Sofia notice I'm awake.

"It's about time," Sofia greets me. "You've been out for a while."

"How long?"

"At least two hours."

Pushing a strand of hair behind Chiffon's ear, Eli smiles as the girl wiggles about, trying to find a comfortable position on the floor. "This one's been sound asleep too."

Leaning against the clothes, another yawn escapes my mouth. Tiny rays of sunlight flow into the room, countering the unnatural, electrical lights placed in the ceilings, reminding me of the Stockyard's bright rooms before launch. If I had to guess, it should be around four in the afternoon.

"What made you two start talking to each other?" I ask.

"Desperation and loneliness." Sofia looks back down at her shoes, playing with the laces, nervous to talk again. "My parents. I was talking about my parents, even though they don't deserve to be called that. They never cared about me," she mumbles. "The plague got me when I was five. Not having the balls to put me out of my misery and already having my two sisters, they abandoned me on the Community Home's front porch and never came back."

I remember that plague. I was just seven when it began. Right before the start of the Second Quarter Quell, people got sick, really sick, dying from left to right. The East Village, the poorest and closest area to District Eleven, was hit the worst, racking up bodies in the hundreds. Given the name _morado_ from the purple boils that formed on the victims' skin, it was truly something terrible: in the first stage, vomiting and fainting occurred daily, making the person bedridden and dependent on others. The boils would form in the second stage following hallucinations and emotional instability. By the time the final stage set in, the victim was so far gone physically and mentally that loved ones were forced to bury them alive as they were brain dead by then. I got my first taste of death when my _abuelo_ died from it, taken away from us just like that.

Outbreaks like _morado_ like to sweep through Ten every now and then. The real reasons behind the sicknesses are never told but we know, we know what causes them. District Ten is a big place. It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots and realize why such a convenient amount of the population dies off every twenty years, especially in the poorer areas. The Capitol calls them "unfortunate circumstances" but no one's stupid enough to believe that.

"I only reached the second stage and got better. How, I have no idea," she huffs, leaning back against the wall. "Sometimes I wonder if it was a mistake."

"So that explains all those scars on your face," I say. Immediately, Sofia inspects her reflection in the windows and self-consciously picks at the dark marks scattered about her face and hands.

Eli looks at me like I've said something horrible. "Giovanni. Have some manners."

"What? I meant that in the nicest way possible," I give the girl a reassuring smile. Turning back around, she looks like her whole day has been ruined.

"Thanks Giovanni. I really needed that compliment."

I swear it sounded better in my head.

Soft moans come from Eli's lap. We look down to see Chiffon waking up, shifting slightly in her jacket. For a moment, she's still. Then, her hazel eyes suddenly burst open and she jumps to the defense, hitting Eli in the jaw by accident. My hands find my whip, preparing for her attack. Like a wounded animal, she shifts her gaze back and forth from me to Sofia until she realizes we're not a threat. I only let go of the whip when her shoulders ease.

Straightening up her hair and jacket, Chiffon's face goes bright red in embarrassment. "Sorry. You guys were all around me. Don't do that again." Eli rubs his chin and complains about the pain to get her attention. Her voice softens when she notices him. "You okay?"

Nodding his head while the girl rubs the injury away, it's obvious he did it to get some physical affection. The audience must know it too, as a parachute with a small piece of paper floats in between the pair. Another letter from Chiffon's suitors. It's been a while since she's gotten one. This time, she does not tolerate the perverts in the Capitol and throws it to the side. That simple toss will be understood by the Capitol that she doesn't need or want sponsors, that she's at no one's mercy. A small act of rebellion. Not wanting to face the wrath of the Gamemakers, I catch the shiny paper before it can hit the ground and open the lavender-scented letter enthusiastically. I don't mind kissing ass to the Gamemakers. Somebody's gotta do it. Opening the letter, I see that it's shorter than any of the others.

_Baby Doll,_

_ Are you betraying our love for that pathetic District Six tribute? How dare you do that to me! Know your place as my rightful bride or face the consequences. Your beauty will not be able to save you from my discipline._

_ Your husband,_

_ Isaurus Nervetti_

Maybe it would've been better to let the trash drop to the ground. I fight the urge to rip it to pieces, instead putting it in my pocket. Kissing his chin to heal his booboo, she stands up, wobbling a little as she peers out the windows to see how late it is. We dine on sliced peaches and peanuts for lunch, me rationing out the food. I still don't trust my so-called allies to tamper with it. Chiffon and Eli make small talk, cuddled in the middle of the room, giggling a few times at nothing in particular. Tucked into her corner, Sofia stays silent, all the talk having been washed out of her. My daydreams of home keep me preoccupied.

Home. It's such a foreign idea now. Memories of it are starting to become foggy. Basics I can remember but the details are getting harder to recall with each passing day. What certain buildings look like, most of my neighbors, my nieces and nephews' voices, my parents' favorite foods. They don't come back to me as quickly as they should. Sometimes, they never do. But the Arena does. I can remember everything about this place down to every last screw in the walls, and that scares me. This place, this prison, almost feels like home.

Shaking the thought away, my eyes land on the biggest building in the Arena. Electric gate surrounding the massive block of steel, I try to imagine why the Gamemakers has the unmarked structure here. It has to be important and crucial to the Games since the gate has yet to be lowered, but just what do they plan to use it for? I'm not sure I want to be alive to witness it.

_BOOM!_

A second kill of the day has been made. The younger pair's conversation stops then picks back up again, carrying its usual casual tone like another child didn't just lose their life to entertain the viewers. We'll have to wait till tonight to see who'll be the next face in the sky.

* * *

><p>Stomach pains start to hit as the anthem booms throughout the Arena. All of the unnecessary noises this place produces is not helping my headache any and makes sleep harder to come by. Looking over Dmitri's terrified face, we anxiously await to see who the tribute that died earlier was. Chiffon lets out whimper when the District Eight boy pops up next.<p>

"No, not him. Anyone but him, please." A tear falls from her left eye. Quickly wiping it away, more fall. She doesn't bother this time.

From what I can remember, Chiffon and the Eight boy, whose name I still don't know, never spoke to each other during Training. They barely looked at one another when they were reaped. Why is she getting so emotional over his death? He couldn't have been family. They look nothing alike, her blonde ponytail contrasting with his darker hair. Did he remind her of home? Possibly, but if she sympathized with the older boy, wouldn't she have allied with him instead of Eli?

"Did you know him?"

"Of course I knew him, you stupid idiot! He was my brother's boyfriend!" She loses it and starts crying hysterically. Eli comforts Chiffon while me and Sofia sit awkwardly watching the girl have a breakdown. Comforting people has never been my thing, so I distract myself with what she said. Her brother's _boyfriend_? Is that what guys call close friends in District Eight? I hope so.

What feels like hours go by until Chiffon gains control of her emotions again, looking humiliated and exhausted after having such a reaction to her district partner's death. Shoving off her boytoy, she tries her best to seem unaffected.

"Oliver is-_was_-my brother's boyfriend. They dated for months. When we were reaped, he decided it'd be better to work separately, as you know what happens to tributes who get too close," she gives Eli a sad smile, knowing she broke the very rule that caused her not to ally with Oliver. "Batiste would be heartbroken either way, so we decided the best thing to do was to make sure one of us made it back to him. Oliver didn't want to be a burden and he definitely didn't want it coming down to me or him."

I figure out what she means by the term 'boyfriend' and have to hide my disgust by the idea of it. "So the Eight boy and your brother were _lovers_?"

"His name was Oliver," she corrects me. "And yes, they were in a relationship. He wasn't like me. He was a good person, not made for the these Games."

I ask no more, not wanting to hear anything else about the two boys. That type of…behavior makes me uncomfortable. Rumors and jokes float around Ten about guys being that way, but they're never true. No guy would do something like that. That's against our culture. The proper thing to do is meet a woman and have a family. What Chiffon's talking about is just weird. How does that type of stuff work? Where do the parts even go? And she talks about it like it's normal. Life in other districts truly is different.

My stomach pains get worse and I start to feel dizzy. Suddenly, I hear Chiffon vomit and the sound and scent of it makes today's lunch shoot up and splash all over the floor. Round two of the vomiting starts and I see Eli hand a dry heaving Chiffon our water bottle. Right before she can drink from it, he snatches the bottle back and sniffs it. If I currently wasn't bent over emptying out my stomach, I would've tackled him to the ground for throwing our bottle across the room. Sofia looks ready to jump out of her skin when she sees the expression on his face.

"That wasn't water Sofia. That was liquid horse tranquilizer!" he screams. "You…bitch! You stupid, worthless bitch!"

She genuinely looks shocked by the revelation. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't know! Please don't kill me! Please!" Sofia begs, edging close to the exit, shield in hand.

The room starts to spin. Things becomes one big, gray blur. I see Eli lunge for Sofia. My district partner makes it out of the room just in time to escape his knife and just in time for things to go black.

* * *

><p>Dried vomit is caked in my hair and clothes when I wake up the next morning. Memories of last night are fuzzy and the headache I have is not making my morning any better. Only Eli and Chiffon, who's resting in Sofia's sleeping bag, is here. Eli watches me while I sit up. I have to wonder how long he's been staring at me. The thought makes me grab for my whip, just in case the Six boy feels bold and wants to start the day off with a fight.<p>

"Where is she?" I ask, hoping his gaze will move to something else.

"Gone," he finally moves his eyes towards the direction of the door. "She escaped before I could kill her."


	17. That Was Convenient

**Author's Note: You guys might hate me by the end of this. Tis the life of an author I guess. Enjoy faithful fans!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17: That Was Convenient<strong>

Using my elbows, I prop myself up and lay on the wall. Sniffing the stained jacket, I look down, edging away from the orangish-brown spot of vomit caked on the metal that shot through my mouth last night. The dizziness is still here, and so is my headache. In fact, both have gotten worse. I don't know why. With every pulse, pain shoots through my entire head and runs into my neck, stiffening and crippling it. It's so bad that I can hardly concentrate or move without wanting to tear up from just how intense it feels. Not to mention my stomach feels ready to explode at any minute. Working out in the sun and shoveling animal shit all day has never made me feel ready to die, and no way can stress have you knocking on Death's door like this.

Eli starts talking, and talking, and talking. I can't keep up with his fast-paced version of what happened last night. Each time I try, I fall behind a sentence or two. Midway through, I have to stop him to recollect my own thoughts.

My speech is slow and slurred when I talk, so much I can barely recognize my own voice. "So where's Sofia?" I ask again, not catching it the first time he told me.

He pops a few nuts in mouth and sips from his water bottle. "I already told you. Gone."

"She died?" I don't remember hearing any cannons. Then again, I don't remember anything after I blacked out.

A look of pure disgust crosses his eyes. Something I'm starting to notice about Eli is his demeanor. Something's changed about him in the recent days. Something's off. The more I think about it, the more I feel like breaking the alliance. But I can't anymore. This sickness is literally killing me. How can I escape from two tributes when the simple act of standing up has become a challenge? "She will be soon. The bitch got scared when I realized she poisoned you two. Ran straight out the door before I could kill her."

My eyes close then shoot back open. "What did you say?"

Playing with his golden dagger, he repeats himself. "You heard me. The water Sofia gave you? It was actually liquid horse tranquilizer."

I knew it! I knew something was wrong with that water! I just couldn't place it, and I had no other water source. How was I so stupid not to realize it was a horse tranquilizer? We used to use it all the time back home! Dammit!

Now I really sink back to the floor, absolutely defeated. District Ten Male Tribute, Giovanni Del Rojo, 12th Kill in the 61st Hunger Games, death by poison. The sentence repeats over and over again in my head. So this is how I'm going to die, huh? Poisoned by my pathetic district partner? Maybe Sofia wasn't so dumb after all. What do I know? I'm the one dying. She could have been planning this all along, had this trick under her sleeve, given to her by Yesenia. It certainly wouldn't be the first time a tribute pretended to be weaker or stupider than they really were. Pull a wild card right in front of us.

I must admit it. I'm impressed. Even as I die a slow, miserable death. Who knew the girl had it in her?

Another round of vomit shoots through my mouth and nostrils, stinging my throat with its acidic, disgusting taste. And then another wave comes even heavier than the first. When it finally stops, I roll up into a ball to stop myself from shaking. I can't take this anymore. The walls break and the rivers flood my system. I can't stop crying. I can't stop bawling my eyes out. Screaming even. And you know what? I don't give a damn what the Gamemakers, Capitolites, sponsors, Esteban, or even Papi think of me right now. I'm dying, dammit. I'm dying! I deserve the right to be weak, to be less of a man. All this work, all this misery for me to get _poisoned_ by an East Village Community Rat! Angry isn't enough to describe how I feel. I must be feeling the rage now; I can't stop shaking. I'm infuriated. No, pissed off. I hate Sofia. I hate her so much. I swear on my _abuelo's_ grave that I'll give that bitch the most painful death the Hunger Games have ever seen. She'll beg for me to kill her once I track her down.

Minutes, maybe hours pass until I come to my senses and regain my manhood. Embarrassed and with an incredible stench still stuck on me, I try to recollect the little self-respect I have left, sitting up against the wall with a blank expression. Chiffon is up now too. She looks to be faring the same as me: pale, exhausted, ready to kill over. No longer does the cold, calculating tribute from Eight exist. Now, a sickly district girl sits in front of me, fighting to hang on to however much life she has left, coughing and moaning in pain with each passing second. Having long dismissed me, I have to squint my eyes to see what Eli is doing. In his hand is a small, sharp-looking needle with a bright blue liquid in it. Hesitating for a few seconds, he gets the okay to inject her with the substance, pulling off her jacket sleeve and shoving the needle into her arm. Wincing, she lets out a slight whimper and almost immediately looks better than before. Seconds later and Chiffon looks like she's never had a lick of the tranquilizer.

"Give me some," I demand, motioning for the needle. The pair whips their heads in my direction, carrying expressions of pure shock. They look like they've seen a ghost. "What? Give me it," I repeat.

Chiffon and Eli go silent. Their eyes shift from the needle to each other to back to me sprawled out on the ground, waiting for an answer. Chiffon stays quiet and completely ignores me, suddenly caring how messy the room is and goes about hastily straightening and organizing the clothes. She looks better, but she doesn't move nearly as fast or as swiftly as before, limping and stumbling over her feet every now and then.

When Eli goes to smile, I know I won't like what he's about to tell me. "Chiffon only had one vial from the Six building. Sorry." He quickly turns his back to me, helping his partner fold the clothes.

Was I supposed to be satisfied with that response? "So what am I supposed to do?" my voice raises when I realize what the answer is.

Die. This is the time where I die.

Complete silence falls. My glare never leaves the pair as they pretend like I don't exist, moving around the metal room like crazed ants. Holding my sickle and whip underneath my thick jacket, I'm prepared to fight to the death at any moment, even if I'd be the one dying. Once every single article of clothing is neatly folded and stacked into towers, Chiffon clears her throat.

"Let's go for a search, Eli. Giovanni, stay here and watch our stuff. We'll be back." What stuff? The towers of clothes? Because wool sweaters and leather pants are enough to guard my life over. Chiffon and Eli rush out the room, not sparing me a single glance before quickly slamming the door behind them.

The alliance is over.

This is the last time I'll ever see them. I'm not stupid; I know they're never coming back. The alliance doesn't need to be properly broken because it was already done: Sofia can easily be picked off once they find her and I'll die before I can become a threat. Well that was convenient for Chiffon and Eli. I knew it will come to this, but it' still shocks me. Worse, it hurts. To be honest, my plans never thought this far ahead. In my warped, screwed up little mind, I started to believe they'd save my life when it came down to it, that we were a dysfunctional but solid team, that they really did care about me. That maybe, maybe all three of us could somehow get out of this place alive; have the first triple win in Panem history. But it doesn't work like that. I should've known better. I'm old enough to face the truth. And now look where I am, sitting in my own body fluids. Cold, miserable, alone, dying.

Resigning to my fate, I lay down and start to tell my family how sorry I am that I was too pathetic to win the Hunger Games, that I tried my hardest but it just wasn't enough, when I hear the rustling of something in my jacket. A green paper-wrapped object falls out of the pockets and I have to stop from slapping myself. The Vroom! Vroom! Bars. It's the same one that I opened but never ate all those days ago! How could I forget about them? With newfound excitement, I shoot up from off the grounding and immediately curse myself for being so fast since the dizziness gets worse for a few seconds. Regaining myself, I tear off the wrapper and stare at it. Eli said something important about them, but the memories seem so long ago and he talked so much that nothing rings a bell. Nothing can be worse than how I'm feeling now and if this saves my life, I'll take on whatever consequences come my way for taking these.

So I bite off a piece. It's chalky, thick, and absolutely disgusting, an off-tasting vanilla type of flavor. But I feel it. Instantly I feel it running through my entire body just like that. Energy, pure, raw energy surges through my veins and shoots to my brain. This feeling is just…marvelous, like lightening's struck me but in a good way. My headache is gone. My dizziness is gone. My drowsiness, what drowsiness? I feel like I've just landed in the Arena, waiting on my plate for the gong to ring. Even my hunger has been curved a bit. Everything is so clear now: metal walls sharper and shinier, bombs louder, the steady shake of the ground more intense, smoke seeping from the outside stronger than ever. It feels like I've awakened from a deep sleep. And that was just one bite. I gobble down the rest of the bar. Why pace myself? Throwing the wrapper to the ground, I feel on top of the world, like I can take on every single Career left if I had to.

And just in time too, because the smoke and music start the second I get on my feet.

Now I see why they're called Vroom! Vroom! Bars. The speed just one energy bar gave me is incredible. I sprint from hallway to hallway, practically jumping down each staircase, barely registering the smoke that surrounds me. Two other sets of footsteps follow quickly behind me and I turn my head to see a stunned Chiffon and Eli gawking at what was supposed to be an easy kill, a dead man walking. They stupidly gave me all of their energy bars so now Chiffon has nothing to combat her sluggishness with. Serves them right for leaving me to die. Eli shouts above the music to move faster and Chiffon shouts back, angry that he's demanding the impossible from her. In no time they're eating my dust, falling behind by a few steps then a few levels. I make it out of the Eight building in the blink of the eye and go to catch my breath just for a second. Inhaling the thick outside air, my eyes shift to see Valor bursts through the One door, sword in hand, confident, ready for combat.

He sees me. I see him. I run.

He's catching up fast, muscular frame not for a second slowing him down. "Come back here cow breeder!"

My brain goes into overdrive, torn between which building to choose and how to survive to make it there. I need water. Few doors have been opened. District Seven, closed. Six, definitely not. Not Five. Four….Four! Four has water. Is Penelope or Creek inside? I can't fight them with or without the tranquilizer running through me. The wolf pack hasn't broken yet, so they must all still be together, and Valor did come out-

Valor's sword clanks on the metal floor. He's too close for me to go anywhere else now. Rather risk the Four building than fight a Career. I slide inside the entrance right as the slam of the heavy metal doors block the blond's blow in the nick of time. That was too close.

Still pumped up on the Vroom! Vroom! Bar, I slip and fall face first into a puddle of water. Splashing about before getting up, I look around to see that this is more than a little puddle; the entire main entrance of the Four building has been flooded with water. It's at a low level barely up to my ankles and thankfully stagnant, but the sight makes me nervous. I quickly make my way up to the second floor, not waiting to see what traps or mutts the Gamemakers have hidden here. The first room I find, an empty one with the sound of a leaky faucet, is my new shelter. Taking off my jacket to wring out the water, I look out the window and see them. My ex-allies, trying to outrun an anxious, irritated Valor. How are they still out there? Was I really that much faster or did Chiffon slow them both down? Eli had to have been one of the fastest tributes during Training. But that was in the past. All that matters now is that I'm no longer the Gamemakers' latest target. They won't harm me in here. Not when a battle's about to start at least.

The Six and Eight pair tries their hardest to make it to the safety of the Eleven building, both of thm swallowing in too much of the smoky air to move fast enough. Chiffon has it the worse, hands on her knees, coughing and gagging to the point where she has to stop to avoid passing out. Seconds later, she sits up straight, regains herself, and continues on. Her partner looks absolutely at war with himself, brown hair tossing back and forth from her to the Eleven building to the fast-approaching Career several times. At this point, he's pretty much dragging Chiffon along since she can't move as fast as they need her to. Reaching Eleven, they're both so close to getting inside and Valor so close to having two kills that even up here I have to calm myself from panicking. No telling how Panem's holding up watching this. Eli reaches the door first when suddenly he stops, turns around, and with an expression as blank as Picasso's mind, shoves Chiffon out of the doorway.

The doors shut. The music stops. The bombs began. It's time for a battle.

Eli, the scrawny, quirky, polite-as-can-be kid from the transportation district, betrayed Chiffon. Has left what was thought to be his ally and more to die at the hands of a Career at her weakest state.

What type of man is he? Coward. His father should be ashamed of himself for producing such a pathetic son.

The Arena truly does change people. Or does it just bring out their true side?

In momentary disbelief, all she can do is freeze in front of the entrance. Then, the banging starts. "Eli? Eli! Eli please! Open the door! Open this damn door!" her voice carries such desperation that I almost want to go out and open it myself. Almost. What she can't accept is that no amount of force will open that door now. It's glued shut. Only the Gamemakers can open it and not one of them will do so if it means losing a good show, even if sacrificing their precious Chiffon in the process happens.

Eventually, she gives up at the precise moment Valor catches her and barely dodges his blow, sword scraping the metal instead of her head. Two daggers, the golden knife from One and the plainer knife she used to attack Orazio, pop from out of her sleeves and into both hands quicker than a fox. The blonds silently circle one another, keeping their fierce expressions locked on the other. The bombs make an abrupt stop and everything falls silent, so silent that you could hear the workings of the Gamemakers if you tried hard enough. This will be a match to remember, they can tell, and they don't want to miss any grunt, gasp, or scream made.

"So Baby Doll," starts Valor, lazily shifting his elaborate sword from one hand to the other. "I see you're still alive. Impressive."

Letting out a quick cough, Chiffon holds her ground and her sneer. "Ten points to Glitterhead for stating the obvious." The girl gots guts. I can't deny that. Even when facing near certain death, she still has it in her to insult the bigger teen.

This riles him up perfectly. Swinging his sword through the air, Chiffon evades the attack and gets a good swipe at his arm, the exact same bandaged spot she scored on the first day all the way up from the District Eight building. Looking at the reopened wound, the One boy lets out a growl and stomps his foot in protest.

"I knew you were the one that did this," he recalls. "Only you and Penelope had aim this good. Guess it's time for my revenge, _n'est-ce pas_? _Allons-y!_" He charges towards her for the third time and the battle really begins.

Watching Valor and Chiffon fight, you can barely tell who's the Career and who's the District Eight tribute. I can see the years of training both teens have had come out in full display, matching each other's swipes and steps perfectly. To add a dramatic flair, the Gamemakers have started up the bombs again, causing the fight scene to be just that more theatrical. This is what the Capitol has been waiting for since the gong rang: an epic battle between two equal opponents. Behind the final two showdown and the bloodbath, battles like these are what make The Hunger Games so memorable, what the Capitolites live for. And they're anxious for one too; there haven't been any really good fights all Games long. All the others were easy kills or hopeless attempts at survival. The brainless dolls of the Capitol must be scratching their wigs trying to figure out how a girl from the textiles district learned to fight so well. This girl, this fourteen-year-old girl, is fighting off a tranquilizer and still she is giving an eighteen-year-old District One Career boy a run for his money.

If that's not impressive, then I don't know what is.

The blonds dance around the empty Cornucopia for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. Besides the mark Chiffon made at the beginning of the fight, neither teens have made any major injuries and are pretty much at a standstill. I can practically smell the sweat dripping off both as they take a small break, eyes never leaving each other. Chiffon's family must be so proud of their little girl for showing all of Panem what she's being taught and for holding her own for so long.

"_Chère_, you're good," Valor speaks in between breaths, unaffected by the deep cut on his cheek.

She spits and smiles, wiping away a running stream of blood from her broken nose. "Payback for feeling me up during Training." And they're at it again.

This time though, there's something different about the fight. The tranquilizer is taking its effect. The bright blue stuff Eli gave her must not have completely rid of the poison in Chiffon's body. She's tiring out and fast. Her attacks aren't as sharp, her movements aren't as quick, she stumbles more than once and begins to cough a little. Valor looks like he could take on three more tributes with the energy he has. This allows the boy to land much more hits than before.

Everything's going fine until something horrible happens. Leaning back to block a hit, Chiffon accidentally slips on the metal floor and the look in her eyes tells me she knows it was a fatal mistake. Screaming as the sword slashes across her chest and tears her jacket open, the girl stumbles backwards in complete shock of the bloody injury. In a last attempt to save her life, she launches both her daggers at the taller boy. The first grazes his arm, cutting open his already-shredded jacket. The other is more successful and embeds itself in his hand, causing the eighteen-year-old to howl in pain. While Valor slowly and painfully takes the dagger out of his hand, Chiffon's body echoes throughout the Arena, slamming hard on the metal floor. Moaning, she starts to writher about like a dying snake and I can't look anymore. But just as with Lavender, my curious eyes are focused right back on the scene.

The blonde girl is now foaming at the mouth and taken over by intense, painful-looking spasms. I turn away for real this time, covering my ears and closing my eyes. I have to think of something, anything to distract me from what's going on in real life. My mind flips through the memories and goes way, way back, back to one random memory I haven't thought about in a while: my first slaughtering.

* * *

><p>I was six years old when I had to send my first herd to the slaughterhouse closest to my house. By government standards, six is when you're given a Capitol-official job and held accountable for a certain meat quota to send to the city, though you're helping around the house and the farm the day you can walk anyway. Before I became useful in the Capitol's eyes, I didn't pay much attention or ask any questions to why a group of our animals would suddenly disappear every month or how the meat on my plate got there. Never even connected the dots when my sister and brothers talked about their work. I was a naïve, carefree boy, just helped out on the farm, listened to my parents, and horsed around with Ivan.<p>

The first thing I woke up to on the morning of my birthday was a Capitol official sitting in my living room, a purple-skinned, mean-looking thing. Besides President Snow calling you to sit for a cup of tea in your own house, that's the last thing you want to see first thing in the morning, or at all. With her nose scrunched in a disgusted sneer, the woman quickly went about verifying my age and assigned me a job before leaving in a hurry, all of us daring to breath when she closed the door. After that, things went on normally for the next few weeks and I thought nothing of the event.

Then the day for the slaughterhouse came. I remember it too; it was Jacinta's first Reaping ,the 49th Games. That was such a miserable day: it was that awful dry type of hot, the one where the wind felt like an oven. Couldn't do much work without fighting off heat stroke and dehydration. Immediately after the two tributes were chosen, we changed out of the uncomfortable dress clothes and into the thinnest ones we could find. Papi told us the usual routine, round up the cows, and we did like he said. But today, we'd be taking a special trip with a "prize" at the end, Papi called it. Jacinta rolled her eyes while Baldomar and Ricardo got all excited about it. I was too, thinking the prize was candy. Until we started the trip. Walking a mile in the sweltering heat and trying to push an entire herd of cattle was backbreaking work and I was close to passing out by the time we got to the place, my little body barely able to take the summer sun. Worse, there was nothing special about the "prize" at the end of the trip. Worn-down and looking close to flying away with one good gust of wind, I knew for a fact candy was not hidden in the building, not to add the terrifying sound of metal scrapping metal. I stopped to inspect the scary place and nervously followed Papi and my siblings in, who walked inside like this was the Justice Building.

The face I made when I saw what was inside must have been hilarious because Ricardo still cracks up laughing thinking about it to this day. Blood covered everything and every worker. Every animal in Ten was inside, moaning and screaming in agony. The metal scrapping metal sound was actually a shredder cutting the animals to pieces. And it smelled too: the little air that came in through the windows just circulated the stench of old meat around the one big room that made up the building. It was like the Hunger Games: Animal Edition. I went to ask Papi if we had the right building when I looked to see him leading our cows to a machine with a sharp slicer at the top. Watching in horror as one cow in particular, a fat one I named Grasa, casually had her head chopped off, I ran out screaming before I could see anymore. Yelling at my siblings who got a kick out of me freaking out, Papi came out of the slaughterhouse and sat with me outside, not caring about the sun bearing down on our necks.

Rubbing my shoulder, he gently asked me, "_Mijo_, why are you crying?" If I tried that act now, he'd ridicule me and give me extra work to do.

I sniffed a few times then answered him, "Because you hurt the animals. You killed them. That wasn't nice at all." I was such a crybaby back then, losing it at the drop of a hat.

"Giovanni," he took me into his big lap and smiled. Before he came down with the sickness, Papi was a rather tall man, towering over most men in the district. "Everything must die. Even you and me. But don't be sad; when we die, we go into the earth to make it all healthy and strong so our families can be happy and eat well. Don't you want your _tías y tíos_ to be happy?"

Thinking about it like that made me stop crying. I looked up into Papi's strong, secure eyes and smiled. "Y-Yeah. I want them to be happy."

* * *

><p><em>BOOM!<em>

Valor limps away from where Chiffon is sprawled out, leaving a bloody trail to the One building. As the fourteen-year-old is lifted into the hovercraft, she looks like she has simply fallen asleep. I try to think of happy thoughts for her and her family, to honor her in the right way. Maybe something good will come out of Chiffon's death. Maybe she'll be put into the earth and make it all healthy and strong for her family to be happy like Papi said to me all those years ago. I'll try to believe the childhood lie for her sake. For her family's sake. They deserve it.

Wiping the tears away, I focus my attention from the windows and towards my own problems. The horse tranquilizer is still running wild in my system. These Vroom! Vroom! Bars somehow work to stop the symptoms, but for how long, and does it cure the poisoning? I dig into my jacket pocket and pull one out. On it in small green letters is a paragraph of ingredients which might as well be in a different language with the incredibly long words they use. Are these even safe to take when I'm in this condition? Eli mentioned something about them being addictive, but I don't have any other options. Chiffon destroyed the rest of the medicine in Six and Esteban has been asleep at the control desk since the Games started because what does a four-letter note do me any good? I could not have any sponsors. But how? I made it this far. Someone should have some faith in me. I toss the thoughts about my team not giving a damn about me to the side. Can't afford any more distractions than I do now.

If I had to guess, I'd say it's early afternoon. The Gamemakers like to have the battles early in the day to give Capitolites something good to wake up to I guess. My throat is dry and painful, maybe from the sickness or that I haven't had anything to drink since yesterday. I came here for water, so that's what I'll search for. I can't stay in this empty room forever. The Capitol must be entertained, or else. I count out how many are dead so far. Wanda. Nace. Koring. Clay. Tottie. Lavender. Ramona. Orazio. Virgo. Oliver. Dmitri. Chiffon. Half are dead nine days in. Halfway to victory. Things are gonna get interesting now. The purple robes will make sure of it.

Cautiously cracking the door open, I give a quick peek to see if anyone's out there waiting to make a kill. No creaks or footsteps were made since I got here, but I don't want to take my chances. The constant bombs have screwed up some of my hearing and now I have to try extra harder to pick up on sounds. As quiet as I can, I tip-toe around the metal building, trying to remember a way Chiffon told us to walk silently. I tell myself not to think about her but my mind always ends up to her. Yes, her death was shocking and upsetting as I had, or at least thought I had, some connection with her, but the other way I feel is overpowering my thoughts. Relieved. Relieved that it didn't come down to me or her. Relieved that I'm one step closer to seeing my family again. Relieved that she's, well, dead. Chiffon was serious competition. An eighteen-year-old Career Tribute, someone who could shoot an arrow before they could crawl, had trouble defeating a sick fourteen-year-old. Imagine how I would've fared against the Eight girl. I feel horrible for thinking that about her even though I know it's for the best that's she gone, for my sake at least.

I travel up level to level to find nothing in any of the rooms. Not even a simple fishing hook, just the faint scent of rotting seafood. How is a building based on a Career District completely empty? This late in the Games, I shouldn't be surprised. The wolf pack would've long since stripped this place bare and any other tribute would snatch up the few scraps left. And to add to my worries, I'm starting to feel the high of the energy bar slowly go away. The dizziness and headache are coming back. So is the drowsiness, and that's gotten worse. Eli didn't tell me I'd feel this way after the 3 hours were up. No wonder they're so addicting.

Making my way back to the second floor, it's the seventh time I hear a strange clicking noise. I've heard it before but for the life of me can't remember from where or what. Mutts haven't appeared yet and now's usually the time they do. Please Gamemakers don't let it be what I think it is. I pick up my pace which turns into a jog which turns into a run, the clicking noise getting louder and faster the longer I go. Slamming the door behind me, the noise vanishes and is replaced by the leaking faucet sound again. Huddled up in my warm wool jacket, I lay on the cold floor and let myself nap for a bit. The exhaustion is taking over again.

* * *

><p>It's pitch black outside when I get up from my nap. Did I sleep that long? I was only supposed to rest for an hour or two. Going to swallow, barely any saliva is produced. This is a clear sign of dehydration. Why doesn't Esteban see this? Unwrapping another energy bar and throwing the paper across the room, I reluctantly bite off a small piece. I gnaw on the thick goop and dump the rest of the bars on the floor. Nine, enough to last me quite a while. If I take fewer bites at a time rather than a whole bar at once, maybe I can spread them out even longer, just in case worst comes to worst. Break the addiction even. It can't get that bad if I eat them in small doses. My symptoms go away completely after I swallow. With my head clear, I can properly look for water now.<p>

I open the door the same time the anthem blasts overhead, catching me by surprise. Only Chiffon's determined, fierce expression lights up the sky tonight. I stare at her face for a second too late. Looking down, I fight the urge to scream when Creek from Four appears at the top of the staircase. Like a mutt, the Career immedietly senses my presence, his black eyes lock on mine mine and light up with glee when his imperfect teeth shine in the ceiling lights.

"My first kill. About time." He sounds so relieved, thankful even, glad that he can prove his worth to the Gamemakers. I'm glad one of us is happy.

Before I can react, a knife flies through the air aimed straight towards my head.

I told myself not to get distracted.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't you dare think this is the end. ;)<strong>


	18. So You Wanna Play Rough?

**Author's Note: So I wanted to get this to you guys as early as possible since things are about to get crazy in my offline life. Wish me luck and enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18: You Wanna Play Rough? <strong>

His aim isn't as good as his district partner's.

Sinking into the metal inches away from my face, I pull at the knife to use it against him. Doesn't budge. I turn around in time to duck under another one. Off it goes, crashing through the window and out below.

And neither is his intelligence.

I stand up to face Creek. Short, muscular, dangerous, he looks like the typical Career. Nothing special about him from what I can remember. I barely paid him any attention during Training, too busy watching his more ruthless allies. What I do know is that he's bad at throwing knives, doesn't seem too bright, and most of all, out of weapons, helplessly patting at his jacket in search for one. That's surprising. I expected him to have more. Still, he looks ready for a kill, stalking the hallway like a hungry mutt. I should've known Valor wouldn't forget about me. The smarter thing to do was to escape and find another building the minute the main doors opened. But I didn't and now I have to fight off a Career. At least the dumbest of the group was sent to finish me off. Maybe I'll have a chance.

He steps forward, I step back. I step forward, he steps back. Both move to the left, both move to the right.

"You came here to fight or to dance Four?" I say, disguising my fear with a laugh.

Creek snorts, moves it around, and spits the snot over the balcony. How charming. "You're the one that wants to play Simon Says, Ten," he answers, deep voice carrying a heavy District Four accent. Cracking his knuckles, he smirks. "Now those broads from One and Two can finally shut the hell up. They've been talking nonstop about you."

I can't help but roll my eyes at Radiance and Domitia. Is calling out the One girl on a fake romance grounds for calling for my death for ten days straight? It's not even a never-before-seen tactic, so what gives?

"I'm flattered," I give a quick bow. "I'll give them my thanks when I see them okay?" I bite off a chunk of the unfinished bar from earlier. I'll need all the energy I can get to win this fight. Creek starts laughing uncontrollably and I cock my head to the side, wondering what could be so funny at a time like this.

Finally regaining himself, he shouts. "Vroom! Vroom! Bars? Really Ten? I haven't seen those since the Academy." By "Academy" I assume he means the place where Careers go to become killers. "Mind if I have one old buddy?"

"You wish." I double check the zippers on the jacket pockets for safe measure and grin, happy I have something he doesn't have. Actually three things. I still have my whip, and my sickle. Four if you count my brain.

We're at a standstill, waiting for the other to act. The clicking noise from before is back, louder and closer than before. This fight is too important to pay attention to that right now. Idiot or not, Creek is still a Career. Trained their whole lives for a moment like this. They don't have the highest number of Victors by pure luck. And really, all you need is strength to snap someone's neck. I have to time my actions perfectly or die. There's no other way around it. Running back inside the room would be a death wish and he's blocking the stairway, so going around him is impossible.

Wait. The staircase…

When I pull out my whip he looks ready to run but he stands his ground. His hands ball into fists and he readies himself. I'm ready as well and make the first move.

The whip moves to the left and then to the right. This better work. Creek easily dodges both, grabbing the second strike and falls right where I want him to. Still focused on the whip, he pulls me in and reacts too late to dodge me charging right into him. With an loud _oomph!_, we make impact and go tumbling down the stairs, him first. The world spins as we punch, pull, and grab at each other. I feel proud of my plan until my shoulder bangs against one of the steps, pain ripping through my arm.

Okay, maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to do.

There's no time to think about it, crashing down into the water below. Groaning in pain, we're both pretty beat up but Creek got the worse of it, and that allows me time to get up and run…until a hand wraps around my ankle and I'm slammed back into the water. Rolling over, Creek reaches me and his fist connects hard with my cheek. Blood shoots out of my mouth and I'm seeing stars.

Ow.

Well then. He sure can throw a punch.

Spitting blood in his face, I land one square in his jaw. I can take a few hits, no problem. I've been roughhousing, wrestling, and getting into fights since I could walk. And you can't be a scrawny twig in Ten if you expect to produce good livestock and keep up your ranch. With all the heavy lifting, landscaping, and animal care, you can't help but put on some muscle. Every man in Ten has a little bit, the good ones at least. What's one punch gonna do to me?

Flying his head back, another punch is sent my way, hitting my cheek again. I watch as two of my teeth bounce in the water, staining it red.

So you wanna play rough, huh?

Two punches hit his nose and eye. His knee crash into my ribs, causing me to holler out. They aren't broken yet but far from okay. Through a lot of effort, scratching and clawing gets him off of me, flinging Creek to the main doorway. The Four boy bounces back like it's nothing and lunge for the kill again. I move to the right, pulling out my sickle and slashing his back before he can turn around. Creek may be stronger and more skilled, but I'm faster. He's too slow and he knows this. Riled up, he grabs at my weapon which only gets him a cut across the chest. It's a shallow cut but enough to do some damage.

The clicking noise is closer.

"Angry?" I wipe off the blood running from where my two teeth used to be. My cheek is swelling already.

He growls in response. Must be. Catching me by surprise, his head knocks into my forehead. His knee hits me in the chin when I bend over and I'm slammed straight into the wall. The force of it causes the sickle to drop from my hand, mentally cursing as it flies across the room and disappear into the water. Both of us determined to take it, it's a race to see who reaches it first. I do, and Creek wraps his hands over mine a second later.

"Let go! It's mine!" I scream. He doesn't budge.

"You gotta stop playing these childish games Ten. First Simon Says, now tug-of-war? Time to grow up boy." He lets out a harsh chuckle and pulls tighter. I get a sudden idea and go savage, biting down on his hand as hard as I possibly can. Creek hollers and screams for me to stop, but I won't until he lets go of my sickle. I need it to win! I try to not to think about the blood and sweat seeping into my mouth and I don't have to for long. His grip loosens and I immediately take hold of the sickle, swiping straight at his face. His injured fist comes up in time to counter the blow and knock it out of my hand, sailing across the hallway. I'll never be able to get it in time. I feel my face drop the same time his lights up with joy.

With a bloody grin, he speaks. "What are you gonna do now?" I'm sent crashing against the wall again. This time, he doesn't let me get up, putting all his weight on me. I use all of my strength to shake him off me, grabbing, punching, screaming, and kicking, but he's not moving an inch. Slapping me twice with the back of his hand, his fingers find their way around my neck, dunking my head into the water back and forth, back and forth. My nails and knees dig into him harder and harder while his grip gets stronger and stronger. The clicking noise is incredibly loud now, so loud that it's overpowering the bombs. Everything is beginning to fade, getting dimmer and dimmer as I gag and try to breathe through my own blood and the water, the fight in me draining from my body.

Something pinches my back. I can feel it dig inside my skin. With the little strength I have left, I try to wiggle off whatever it is back there.

_POP!_

I feel the skin on my back rip open. My scream comes out as a gargled strain. Looking up, I see one bright blue dot. Then two. Then twenty. Then thirty. Then forty. As they cover the metal ceiling, I see that those aren't blue dots at all.

They're derma diggers.

The beetle muttations shower down on us in unison. Most fall on Creek, biting and gnawing through his jacket and burrow inside his skin before he realizes what's going on. The others scatter about the room unnaturally fast, avoiding the water like it's fire. Instantly, the muscular boy flies off me, hitting himself and thrashing about trying to get rid of the beetles, who explode the moment they dig themselves in. What used to be his skin is a now a mix of slimy blue liquid and deep-colored blood all down his exposed arms, legs, and back. Coughing up the blood in my throat and regaining my strength, I'm lost in the horror of watching the Four boy be destroyed right in front of my eyes. Another _POP!_ in my leg and the agony that follows jolts me back to reality.

_POP! POP! POP!_

They're attacking me too!

I leap from the ground, sprinting past Creek who's now hunched into a ball letting the derma diggers have their way with him. His eyes find me and he looks unrecognizable, the beetles blasting all the skin off from his face and embedding themselves in every part of his body to the point where he looks like a muttation himself.

A skinless hand grabs at me. I quickly kick it away, not caring what his intentions are. "Help me! Please!" he screams. I pick up my pace, refusing to look back. Though he doesn't deserve this horrible death, I'm not about to help someone who not even two minutes ago was ready to finish me off. I pull the main doors. Glued shut. Do the Gamemakers want a two-for-one deal?

_POP! POP!_

The stairway is swarming with derma diggers, so that's out of the question. The only places left are the rooms.

_POP! POP! POP!_

I waste no time; bursting open the first door I can find, I plunge my body into the murky water and splash around like a rabid dog. It takes a few seconds, but after two more pops, the mutts finally, finally give up.

_BOOM!_

The clicking noise fades and just like that, the beetles vanish, replaced by the familiar dripping of the leaking faucet. Only the sound of a hovercraft taking the District Four corpse away lets me know I'm not going insane and that what just happened was real. Still, I don't want to leave my relatively safe hiding spot, scared to see what other Gamemaker trap might be waiting for me.

Coming down from the adrenaline rush, my brain decides now is the time to realize how beat up I am and the pain hits me like a high-speed Capital train. It's excruciating; my skin feels raw and burnt to a crisp, stinging every time my shirt or jacket or pants or anything brush against it. Creek didn't help any either, leaving me bruised and bloodied up, the cheek he punched me in getting bigger by the minute. I sit up against the wall, still in the ankle-deep water. My throat feels sore and hurts at the touch, blood mixed with phlegm building up inside. I hack up the nasty mixture, coloring the water with small globs of red and green. Then they turn into big globs. When I finish, I zip open my jacket pockets and search through each, barely registering the anthem overhead. What does it matter to me anyway? I already know who died.

Pain-Off pills, gauze, the cream I gave to Sofia to use, tiny purple packets from Chiffon. I shove the packets inside my jacket. They're unmarked. Who knows what they could be. I need a plan of action. The most important thing to do is get rid of this pain. Slowly taking off my jacket because every move I make set my skin on fire, the sight of the injuries alone sends me gagging up more snot and blood.

Lesions cover both my arms and stomach, blue slime mixed with more of my blood. I'm surprised I have any left at this point. Touching my back tells me I have a few there as well. Taking off my pants reveals more all down my legs. Quickly I squeeze the entire tube of cream in my hands and lather it over my whole body, not caring how much the ointment stinks. Almost immediately the pain has gone away and gone numb yet the lesions stay, bright, bloody, and disgusting-looking. Wrapping as much of my body that I can in the gauze, I pop a pain reliever pill and struggle to swallow it down, my throat being so bruised from the fight and dry from lack of water. Deep inside my mind I know taking these medicines all at once can't be good for me, but they get rid of the pain. Right about now, that's all that matters.

My second plan of action is going back to what I was originally doing prior to Creek trying to kill me. Water. I need water. I haven't had a sip of it since yesterday. Stripping down to my Capitol-issued underwear, comfortable white briefs, to let my clothes dry, I contemplate what I can do. Around and around I searched earlier and not a drinking source was in sight. A clean source that is. I'm too weak to go to another building and face off against another tribute and drinking the grayish water below is out of the question. And what about Creek? The wolf pack knows he lost the fight now. Will the four of them hunt me down for revenge? Penelope was somewhat friends with him before they were reaped.

So I wait, for the Careers to come for me and for an idea to hit. Neither does and the craving for another bar is coming on strong. It's all I can think about. To distract myself, I put back on the damp clothes that stick uncomfortably against the gauze, and go searching about the first floor. Each room contains the same cloudy water and nothing else. A few minutes later, I stop in place and hold my breath when I hear footsteps. Several footsteps.

Domitia is heard first, deep and terrifying. "Search every building. Skip District Four's. Penelope, you search District Three."

"What about Creek?" Penelope tries to sound strong, but the grief in her voice is apparent. She's right in front of the main door and through the windows I see her trying to peer inside. Thank Panem you can't see from the outside. "We can't let Ten go after what he did to him."

"What did I say about questioning me?" Clearly Domitia's opinion about the girl hasn't changed. Probably gotten worse. "Like I said, search the Three building. He wouldn't be stupid enough to stay in the same place."

Oh yes I would.

I hear Penelope grumble something as she turns away from the front door and make her way across to Three. I don't move an inch until I hear the rest of the pack stomp away.

Sofia was right. They are a bunch of donkeys.

The last bite of the Vroom! Vroom! Bar is wearing off, but my thirst motivates me to continue on. The first level is one big hallway and I'm ready to pass out by the end of it. I'm just about to head back to my hiding spot until something tells me to check the last room. From the outside nothing about it screams anything special, but I just have a gut feeling that something, hopefully something good, is behind that door. Shiny light blinds me when I open it and I nearly double over in shock. In front of me lies clear blue shimmering water. And there's waves. Waves! It's like a scene straight out of District Four.

Before I go lapping it up, one of Atala's survival lectures dons on me. Memories of her are vague but this one stuck out to me: "For the stupid of you, and that applies to many of you, don't drink directly from a water source. Ever. Treat it with iodine or filter it as best you can." It's Rule #0 of survival, in and out of the Arena. Too many people, both tribute and district folk, have died drinking straight from the river. It's too dangerous. Carries bad spirits, like the crazy old people back in Ten say. But the water looks clean. It smells clean. And I'm so thirsty and tired. What else am I supposed to drink?

Imagining all of Panem screaming for me to reconsider, I use my hands to scoop up the tiniest drop of water and slurp. It tastes amazing, cold even. But this makes absolutely no sense. From the few times I paid attention in class, I was told you couldn't drink the ocean water. Had too much salt. Yet this water isn't salty at all. It tastes fresh, better than the stuff we drink in Ten. I get another scoop. And another. And another. Before I know it, I'm gulping down the water. When the thirst dies down, I stand up to leave. There's nothing in the building to store the water in, so I make a mental note to come back to the room tomorrow.

At first, I'm wary of going back upstairs, memories of the derma diggers flashing through my mind. Eventually I realize staying on the first floor isn't wise. The temperature has dropped considerably and sleeping in the water is asking for pneumonia. Worse, I'm a sitting duck for anyone who decides to come inside while I'm sleeping. Skittering up the staircase, I don't dare go farther than the second floor. Far away from the room Creek found me in, I take up hiding in one smaller than the others. Soaked from head to toe, hungry, and itching for an energy bar, I fall asleep in no time.

* * *

><p>A crash grabs me from my nightmares, shouting and hitting at the air. I had too many to count last night. Creek was in most of them, his death replayed over and over again in my head, then every dead tribute sharing his fate, then me. Long, terrified screaming follows the loud noise. It's a girl's voice.<p>

_SPLAT!_

_BOOM!_

I don't want to imagine how they died. Must have been a horrible way to go.

The cravings are unbearable this morning. Just a little piece of the bar won't hurt. Nothing to worry about. I soon give in, unwrapping another bar and gnawing off a bigger piece than I meant to, savoring the effects. I have seven more left. I'll be fine.

Unraveling some of the gauze, the lesions are starting to much look better than I expected to on the day after. There isn't any pus or swelling in sight. That's the Capitol for you. Keeping the finest products from the districts.

Day Ten goes by uneventfully, not that I'm complaining. I use the time to snack on peanuts and a pear that has unnaturally stayed fresh for all this time, take trips downstairs to sip on the water, and sneak a few more bites of the Vroom! Vroom! Bar. Now's the time to rest and recuperate, prepare myself for the next trap the purple robes throw my way. I can't expect to go home alive this if I don't properly recover from the fight.

* * *

><p>Later on in the evening, the Arena grows dark and the bombs, which are nothing more than background noise now, create a sort of peaceful melody. A horrified scream breaks the silence then is abruptly cut short.<p>

_BOOM!_

I go back to munching on peanuts, daydreaming what I'm gonna wear in my Victory Interview. Is it bad that I'm so used to hearing screams? I think so. No one should ever get accustomed to them.

The anthem plays and the death recap is on. Nibbling through the last of the Vroom! Vroom! Bar, the District Seven girl's face is shown first. I can't remember her name off-hand. Something with a C. Maybe an R. All I can think is how hard Valentino must be taking her death. They did date at one time. Or maybe he killed and is happy she's gone. They were exes and we all saw what he could do with an axe.

The picture changes and I'm not prepared for who I see next, almost choking on the energy bar.

Uneven, bumpy skin, sunken cheeks, chapped lips, a mess of tar-colored curls, looking like a complete mess is my district partner, Sofia Mariposa, staring at me with a terrified gaze in her eyes.

I see someone has put her out of her misery.

I'm just disappointed it wasn't me.


	19. All The Motivation I Need

**Author's Note: There's only one (possibly two) more chapters to go until it nears the end of Roulette. Time has seriously flown by; just yesterday I remember being in the planning stages of this story and writing out the very first chapter in my room, trying to beat the summer heat with my best friend. It's been a long journey and I should've updated more frequently in the beginning, but I've truly enjoyed working and improving on my writing and entertaining the dedicated readers I have. So enjoy readers. I really hope you do.**

**(Why did I write that as if this is the last chapter?)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 19: All The Motivation I Need<p>

Dead. Gone. Never coming back. Rotting in the ground.

Two days past until it really sinks in that Sofia is dead. It's a surreal feeling, something that feels like it didn't really happen, just a practical joke someone played on me. At first it felt good that she died. She was the one that tried to silently take me out, poisoning me, poisoning Chiffon too. She got what was coming to her. Then I realized how crazy I sounded. I was no better than Sofia for wanting her dead. I never really cared for the girl and made it a point to know as little about her as possible, yet she wasn't necessarily a bad person. Stupid? Without a doubt. Evil? Not really. Being the weakest link of the group, who could blame her for trying? My strength alone would put her at a disadvantage, Chiffon would annihilate her, and Eli is too smart to die by her hand. It is pretty low to turn on your district partner, but that's what Community Rats do. They aren't very trustworthy kids.

On second thought, maybe it's a good thing Sofia's dead. It's one less tribute to worry about and hey, I didn't kill, somebody else did. She had no real home. No one really cared about her back in Ten. I can (try to) sleep easy knowing her blood isn't on my hands. There's nothing to be guilty about.

Early afternoon hits on Day Twelve. The temperature has skyrocketed inside the building, so much that I wish I kept the jacket issued to us instead of the wool one from the Eight building. I'm sweating like a mule. Smoke from outside is starting to slowly seep through the walls and windows, making it increasingly harder to breath. I might be losing it but through the bombs and general creaks of the Arena I hear some type of grinding, metal against metal sound. It's low and far away, but I know it's there.

The stained, bloodied gauze comes off and I'm surprised to see nothing there. The lesions have healed up so well and so fast to the point where you would never know the derma diggers attacked me. All that's left are big splotches of blue scattered over my skin, the dried goo and guts of the muttations. There's no swelling in other areas either. I touch where I remember the injuries to be. My arms, my legs, my back, my cheek where Creek punched me twice. Smooth like a lamb. However, a tingling sensation has replaced the pain. To be safe, I pop another painkiller before tossing the used gauze aside. No need for it now.

I need a drink. The heat in this place has made my throat dry, not to mention the Vroom! Vroom! Bars throwing off my eating and drinking schedule. I should be glad that I don't have to eat or drink nearly as much as before, but only needing a few sips of water and a handful of nuts a day can't be healthy. Metal creaking loudly under my boots no matter how hard I try against it, I head in the direction towards the end of the first floor hallway for the third time today, still on the lookout for Tributes and derma diggers. Opening the door to what I remember to be the right room, I'm greeted to the site of a bare room. Every drop of the water has vanished, sucked up through the floor. This room was filled up just a few hours ago. My only drinking source is gone and I have no sponsors. The Gamemakers must not be pleased with me.

BOOOOOOOOM!

The whole floor rumbles, violently throwing me across the room and into the wall. A bright flash illuminates the entire Arena, blinding me. Glass shatters and a second explosion goes off. The light lessening now, I make out what I can.

The District Twelve building is no more.

What's left of it has been blown in half: one part is sprawled and scattered about the entire Arena, charred, flaming pieces of steel and shrapnel decorating the floor. The other half, the little that stayed intact after the explosion is currently set ablaze, crackling and rapidly melting away under the angry fire. District Eleven must have caught some of the debris because pieces of it are being set alight too.

BOOOOOOOOM!

A third explosion and I land in the corner, flat on my back, legs in the air. From my upside down position I see the District Eleven building is joining its neighbor and is now going down in flames.

I laugh. At first it's one soft chuckle, then the cackles and doubling over in giggles began. I can't control it. Between losing my only water source, two buildings destroyed for no reason and the general sense of terror that comes with being in the Games , I'm losing it. None of this is funny in the least bit and here I am cocked up in the corner on my back laughing at part of the Arena catching on fire. Everyone will be thinking I've gone insane, and I probably have. The tranquilizer is still running through my body. How the energy bars are working against it is beyond me. As if a reminder that I'm not perfectly healthy, my laughter turns into vomiting, most of it just dry heaving since I don't have much in my belly to begin with.

Off on the other side of the room, a silver parachute silently floats down from the ceiling. Attached to it is a small box. My first sponsor gift!

Hurriedly I go to catch it and hold it to my chest, afraid someone will snatch it away if I don't. The familiar aroma of something sweet wafts through the box. Ripping it open, I see that I've been sent a small, warm loaf of _conchas_, a sweet bread commonly baked for birthdays or celebrations (mainly for _Dia de la Comunidad_). On the bottom the number '10' is stamped, signifying that the bread is specifically from the people of District Ten. Biting inside, the buttery, sugary taste casts away any thoughts of rationing out the bread and before I know it only crumbs are left in the box. Losing all self-control, I lick up the crumbs too. District Ten almost never gathers up money to send our tributes anything. We're too poor for that and few tributes show any promise to waste our hard-earned earnings on. I've only seen it happen once, a few years back. A girl tribute by the name of Xiomara Casalez. She received the most sponsor and district gifts a District Ten tribute has ever seen. Not even Esteban was thought of that fondly.

Finishing up the crumbs, I see that a letter also came with the bread. Looking closely, I see there's actually two. The first one is written in sloppy black handwriting and browning paper. There isn't much use for writing stuff down back home so paper isn't something you can really find around the district.

_Giovanni,_

_We arr roting four you back hear n Ten. We love you verie much and have ben watching over u everie step of dah way. I've ben worried sick about mi niño. It hurts to see mi youngest n dat horrible place. When dat evil bruja gave u dat poison I almost jumped through dah screen to strangle her! And u were hurt so bad bye dat Four boy!_ _¡Dios mío! You had your Mami crying her ies out ever since you left me! I hope u like dah conchas I baked, cinnamon on top just dah way you liked it as a boy. We used your birthday monie to send it two u so think of it as an early precent. Dey wouldn't let us give u anething better dan bread when dey no u really need good medesin. And stop taking dose bars Giovanni. Dey arr bad four u. Everieone here n Ten beleave u will win. I noe u will. Come home two us por favor. _

_Nos vemos mi niño,_

_Mami, Papi, Jacinta, Baldomar, Ricardo, Ivan, and familie_

I don't make it to the fourth line before I'm bawling my eyes out. It's been so long since I've talked to them, my family. I've been worried about them more than myself ever since I was Reaped and now I know they're hanging in there, just like I am. Sending me _sopapillas_, cheap, inexpensive fried dough, would have been a lot easier to pay for. But they decided to send me _conchas_, a dessert, a meal for the very wealthy in itself. They still care for me, even after all I've done. The Gamemakers will never know how happy this has made me. So what if they drained the water away. My family has my back. That's all the motivation I need.

"_Gracias_. _Te quiero._" I look up to the cameras, directing it only to my family. The Capitolites won't understand what I said. Good. They don't need to. Let them think what they want.

Opening the second letter, an intricate flower design decorates the mint green stationery, matching the strong mint perfume it's been drenched in. Someone must have a thing for the herb. Written in sparkling blue ink, it reads:

_Gio,_

_You've made it this far! Oh I'm so proud of you babe! All of my friends doubted you, thinking how Twelvish you looked when the Peacekeepers had to drag you to the stage kicking and screaming. But I knew, I knew you had way more fight in you than that. Tullia was just jealous that Sebastian from Four rejected her invitation to her birthday bash is all. You know how she is. Well, actually you don't, but you will when you win. Yes I said 'when' not 'if' because you are coming out of that Arena alive whether you like it or not! LOL (that means Laugh Out Loud) Anywho, try to be careful in there kay? No more getting banged up (like falling down stairs). I'm still your stylist. Give me something to work with for your Victory Tour._

_BTW (that means By The Way), the question you asked before? It's a definite yes. :)_

_Love ya,_

_Rhapsody_

_P.S. (I don't know what that means. It's just always written at the end of letters) Sorry about the mint smell. It's Mom's latest obsession. _

I have to remember what she's talking about at the end until I'm back laughing again. In her own little way Rhapsody sent a sentimental letter of encouragement. Plus, she wants to continue our…well, activities when I get out of here. So I really was more than a one-night-stand. Smiling at the camera, I fold up the letters and store them in my jacket. With the fires filling the air with more smoke than usual, I go to rest, not having taken a nap all day, and hope the smoke doesn't kill me in my sleep.

Not even an hour into my nap and I'm awake. Something's not right. I'm not superstitious or anything but I can feel it in the air. The fire that was blazing before I went to sleep is now gone along with the smoke, only the incinerated remains of what were the Eleven and Twelve buildings left. My eyes drift to the biggest building in the Arena for the third time since the Games have begun. Still gated. Nothing has changed. But something just seems off. Then I notice it.

Silence. Complete, utter silence.

No bombs. No music. No fire. No creaking metal. No footsteps.

Except for one small sound.

The grinding noise from before.

I look outside. With the smoke cleared, I'm given a full view of the Arena. In the distance, too far to make it there without being killed, there seems to be a body of water and some type of rocky land mass, canyons possibly. All this time there was something out there beyond these stupid steel coffins. I don't have time to get angry because the second it's revealed, something swallows it up whole. Whatever it is is swallowing up everything in its path, and fast. A second noise is made and I turn to my right to see the gate to the locked tower slowly coming down. Rays of light illuminate the structure, bouncing off each of the windows of the other buildings, lighting up the entire place with a rainbow of color. Even though it's a breathtaking sight, the rays somehow light up all ten buildings at once, revealing each of the other Tributes' locations. The Careers are far up in the Two building, panicked, at a loss of what to do. Eli is on the third level of the Six building, just waking from a nap. Everyone else is scattered throughout, emotions ranging from terror to bewilderment.

A figure appears from the Nine building and zooms to the colorful place before the gate can fully come down. It's Isaiah, deranged-looking and much skinnier than before, yelping and screaming nonsense all the way through. How did he survive this long? Jumping over the tops of the gate, he slides his way into the doorway and disappears. I wonder what's got him into a rush until I see it coming.

A gigantic meat grinder is destroying the Arena.

My brain catches up with my feet only when I realize I'm already out of the Four building. The others' rapid footsteps, heavy breathing, screams and shouts are all around me and it's pure mayhem. It's every man for himself; the grinder moves impossibly fast, sharp teeth ripping away at everything in its sight, the awful metal against metal sound louder than I could ever imagine, shredding the Cornucopia and every building effortlessly. While another figure makes it inside, the Careers are still racing down the stairways of the Two building, legs going like frantic little pigs as they yell at each other to move faster. I'm trying to keep up with everyone else, but I can't. I just can't match their strides. I haven't had an energy bar since Sofia died, a whole two days, and now I feel the effects of it. But I push myself to keep going and I pick up speed again. I won't die like this, getting shredded to death. I would never do that to Mami.

Domitia bursting through the entrance first, the wolf pack has finally made it outside and is right behind me. We're the only ones left outside, the rest already in the tower. I don't think about how many weapons they have or how much they want me dead, and they don't either. All that matters right now is getting inside that damn building before we all die. Debris hitting flying everywhere and slicing through our jackets, the grinder is closing in on us.

"Domitia!" I hear Radiance scream. She has tripped and stumbled behind the group. If she can't catch up, her cannon will be next.

"Hold on Radiance!" The Two woman pulls something from her jacket and a second later Penelope lets out an agonizing holler and hits the ground, blood running from her chest. This allows Radiance to catch up and live, and for the grinder to claim Penelope as its victim, legs first. A sickening, sudden sound is produced when the grinder catches the Career. Like a bolt causing a machine jam, it trying to work but something's stuck. Crying out for our help, the girl tries to claw her way out of the grasp of the grinder when at this point not even the most expensive Capitol surgery could save her mangled body.

_BOOM!_

As her cannon signals, red rains down on us, showering our whole bodies, mouths, and the front entrance with the blood of the teenager. We get inside the building and see everyone on their plates from the Cornucopia, a glass shied surrounding each. Before anyone can question what's going on, we're all frozen still, similar to how the ladder going into the Arena locked us in place. I feel the ground move under me and I'm dragged to my designated area, glass trapping me once I'm on it. Besides the light streaming through each plate, the room is completely dark. The stench inside the room is indescribable, our sweaty, dirty, blood-stained bodies all crammed into one small space. It's so bad that I have to breathe through my mouth. That doesn't work either, tasting the mixture of blood and body odor in my mouth.

"Welcome Tributes of the 61st Hunger Games! Congratulations on making it to the Final 8." Claudius Templesmith's voice booms through the room. We react the way kids forced into a deathmatch for twelve days would be expected to and he chuckles, unable to hide his morbid excitement behind his feigned concern for our well-being.

"Whoa, whoa Tributes! Calm down! Aren't you thrilled to have arrived at the Feast?" he asks. No one responds so he continues. "There are two doors. Behind the door to your left lies a certain present for each of you to enjoy. To your right lies the entrance to the rest of the tower." Two doors light up in the distance, one holding the Feast and the other the tower.

"Is it worth fighting for what lies behind the first door or will you take your chances and forgo the Feast?" I can hear the smile in his voice. He's enjoying this far too much.

"But first, shall we play a game?"

Like we have a choice.

Claudius Templesmith clears his voices and begins. "I will ask you each one question ranging in topics from the history of the Hunger Games to factual data of our great nation of Panem."

"To finish, each question will be given a ten-second window to complete."

This is where I die. What is this, a trivia show? Whenever we played games like this in school, I always lost. Timed activities just aren't my thing, even if I know more about the Hunger Games than the creators themselves.

The girl from Five is up first. Meagan, Morina, something like that. I wasn't paying attention. Claudius said her name as I was trying to contemplate how I'm gonna make it out alive. Straggly short hair and raggedy clothes, "The Runaway Bride", as the silver-colored Caesar Flickerman nicknamed her at the Interviews, looks ready to jump out of her skin and run away literally this time. Claudius recites the first question.

"In the 19th Hunger Games, what did Henrietta Savoy receive as her second sponsor gift?" That is all. No more, no less.

Who would know the answer to that? That was so long ago. Most of our parents were little or not even thought of yet. The brunette searches the room, a look of panic in her eyes, silently begging each of us to help her. We're just as confused as she is, racking our brains trying to find the right answer if/when the girl gets it wrong and we may have to answer it. Clock ticking, the Five girl is running out of time. Marrying a thirty-year-old man might have been

"Six seconds remains."

Voice quivering, she answers. "I, uh, is it, um, she received a knife?"

BOOM!

The cylinder is splattered with District Five's remains, painting the glass red. A hand flies towards Valor, the closest to her, and leaves a bloody mark as it slides down. All of us scream at the unexpected death, Valor letting out a slew of curse words and Eli whimpering from across the room.

Claudius Templesmith failed to mention what would happen if we got the question wrong.

"Heavenly Father, give me strength," says Isaiah. He breaks out into a low chant, murmuring words no one but him would understand.

The Five girl's plate disappears. Valor's up next. He gives his signature smirk, though this time the charm and arrogance has been drained away and the look in his eyes says anything but confident.

"Valor Rousseau of District One. Who was the very first Victor of the Hunger Games?"

No fair! That's too easy! The blonde lets out a huge sigh of relief, knowing how lucky he is to have received such an obvious question. Every person in Panem knows the answer like the back of their hand. Maximus Zorata, the District Two male tribute. Killed the competition with his bare hands and immortalized in history ever since. Long dead now, he's celebrated each year during the Victory Tour as a reminder of how great and merciful the Capitol can be, to allow a traitor of Panem a life of luxury and ease.

Surprise, surprise. Valor gets it correct. His glass lowered, the blonde jumps forward and rushes to the room containing the Feast. Domitia and Radiance eye him suspiciously, venom in their glares. I'm dead last, so I'm forced to wait for everyone to go before I get my turn. Valentino is after the One boy and gets a question concerning the age of my district's mayor correct, something I didn't even know. He doesn't bother with the first door, heading straight for the tower.

"Domitia Veronesi of District Two. What colors make up the flag of Panem?"

Are you serious? This is clear favoritism!

Confidently, she stands straight up and utters the words without a second guess. "Black, green, gold in that exact order Claudius."

She strides to the first door and slams it shut. Arguing can be heard behind the door, but I can't make out what they're saying, Claudius's booming voice drowning out the words. Radiance is quizzed on the color dress Jade of last year's Hunger Games, no doubt her mentor this year, wore for her Victory Interview and joins in with what's left of the Career Alliance. More arguing is produced, this time with Domitia yelling at someone. A crash follows, then more yelling.

Claudius interrupts the noise. "Isaiah Kadmiel of District Nine. Of what terrain was the 25th Hunger Games, the First Quarter Quell, made of and who was the first tribute to fall? North American Ruins; Glenda Fallsworth, Recreation of District Thirteen; Joanne Strasburg, Replication of the Capitol; Marco Bise, Replication of the Capitol; Joanne Strasburg?"

A multiple-choice question. They were kind enough to offer him that much. Right off the back I mark off the first one. That was the 2nd Hunger Games. The third option is a trick. It would be logical to assume the First Quarter Quell resembled District Thirteen, but that Arena came far earlier. So it's a toss-up between the last two. I wonder how much the Capitolites are getting a kick out of watching us struggle with these questions when they know the right answers that'll save our lives.

Thinking long and hard about the question, Isaiah answers right before Claudius can declare his time has expired. "Replication of the Capitol; Joanne Strasburg!" the sandy-haired boy shouts and squints his eyes, preparing to be blasted away. His death never comes, the glass removed. Shakily, he makes his way towards the tower entrance.

Only me and Eli left. Staring at him, the coward refuses to make eye contact with me, looking straight ahead. The sound of clashing metal and quick footsteps is produced from the Feast room. A fight has broken out, signaling the official end of the Career Alliance. Maybe they'll kill each other and leave the rest of the Games for me to win. That's wishful thinking.

Confirming my speculation, Claudius updates us on what's going on at the Feast, too excited to speak clearly. "Oh my! The Career Alliance seems to have been severed!" Straightening up, he's back to business. "Eli Bosko of District Six. What is District Three's lowest exported good out of the following? CPUs, RAMs, ROMs, or PATAs?"

A general rule of thumb in school: if you're stumped and don't know the answer, it's probably the most ridiculous sounding one. But what do you do when all the options are ridiculous?

Making those aggravatingly bizarre faces whenever he's thinking hard about something, Eli stalls and stalls, whispering and mumbling to himself as he use his fingers to count. I fight the urge to claw my way off of my plate and rip him a new hole when he finally answers.

"Um, PATAs?" He is correct. Not giving me a glance, he's gone before I can shout anything at him. I'm the only one left now, the Five girl's body parts still spilled around the room. Eli kicks an arm out of his way and I spot a foot by the front entrance. The Career fight is still carrying on and every few seconds someone lets out a yelp or a curse word. Valentino and Isaiah have had plenty of time to move throughout the building. Who knows where they're at now, or what they've found inside.

"Last but not least, Giovanni Del Rojo of District Ten." The stacking of cards can be heard and he clears his voice once again, wrapping up the most interesting Feast I've seen in years. "What is the honorable President Coriolanus Snow's beverage of choice? Brandy, gin, scotch, or rum?"

At this point, my mental filter is gone. I'm simply at my breaking point. Logical Giovanni left the building a _long_ time ago. "What? That has nothing to do with the Hunger Games! Absolutely nothing!"

It's like the entire Hunger Games comes to a halt. Regaining his composure, Claudius Templesmith simply chuckles at my feeble attempt to disagree, toying with me by giving a sarcastic response. "Is that your final answer Mr. Del Rojo?"

"Of course not!"

"Then answer the question, Tribute." The clock starts back up.

President Snow's favorite drink. What do I have to go on? I know nothing about him. He's old. He has a beard. He's psychotic. Sending children to their deaths amuses him. He's quite round. He's rich. Rich old men like to party. Rich old men like sophisticated things. Rich old men like expensive things. Scotch is expensive. So is brandy. Scotch or brandy? Scotch or brandy?

"Scotch!" I yell and suck in a deep breath, knowing what comes next.

My body is still intact.

I'm free.

I'm free!

_BOOM!_

Just as I'm running for the tower entrance, Domitia and Radiance come pummeling through the Feast door. Shockingly still functioning as a team, both are bloodied and injured but are otherwise alive. Valor is not, and I see his dismembered head roll across the floor, a shocked expression permanently stuck on his face. Kicking her district partner's head to the side, Radiance holds a stale piece of bread in her hands. Is that what was waiting for us at the Feast? A loaf of old bread?

"Get him!" Domitia screams. Sweeping through the entrance, an arrow grazes my jacket sleeve. It makes a tear but my skin is okay. A knife whizzes by, slicing open my cheek. Now it's not okay. There's no time to check how deep the cut is. Biting open an energy bar, I swallow the pasty thing in two bites. The chase has begun.


	20. One To Remember

**Author's Note: This is it guys. The end of Roulette. I want to thank everyone, reviewers and non-reviewers, for reading this fic as this is the first story I've ever held on to from beginning to end. All the other times I grow bored of my ideas or get too busy with life. I'm happy it ended at 20 chapters; I was uncomfortable ending Roulette on an odd number (I may or may not have a mild case of OCD).**

**Enjoy and read the outrageously long Author's Note at the end of this chapter. I promise it's well worth the effort.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20: One To Remember<strong>

I lost them. I got away from the Careers. I don't know how much time has passed. I don't know what level I'm on. Sixth, seventh, eighth? All that matters is that they're gone. They're gone. Cheek wound caked with dried blood, I blotted it out with my jacket best I can. Given the lack of gauze and medicine, there's not much more I can do for it now. Good thing it's not too serious. A minor cut. Infection may set in in a few days but I don't think the Games will last any longer. I'll probably win this thing or die before that happens.

The high from the Vroom! Vroom! Bar has yet to go away. The shakes have gotten me, jittering all about the level I'm on. Standing in this corner. Sitting down in this room. Bouncing around the hallways. Walking here, there, everywhere. Keeping still is impossible. It should have gone away by now, the high. Three hours should have come and gone. Even with all the roaming I'm doing, not one tribute has crossed my path, and there aren't that many left. Compared to the other buildings, everything here has been multiplied by ten. The rooms are bigger, wider. Paints and patterns decorate the walls in hideous neon designs only a Capitolite would find pretty. Each ceiling light is a different color as well, casting everything in shades of blues, purples, greens, and yellows. Instead of the drab steel, an elaborately designed type of rock makes up the floor. There are no windows in here, no way to look outside and see the destruction from the bombs and grinder. Yet somehow I can hear all of the other tributes, their movements. I can't locate exactly where they are, but I feel them all here and no doubt they feel me too. They feel so close, too close. The tower is both too big and too small, a warped place of misery.

This must represent the Capitol. If the other twelve depressing buildings are the Districts, what else could this glittery piece of shit be?

For how beautiful everything is, nothing lies in any of the rooms. No items whatsoever. How symbolic of the Capitol. You come to us, we offer you nothing. Hungry? Fight over stale bread. If you're lucky, you'll get a piece.

Disgusting.

Now that the insanity from the Feast has died down, six families should be positioned in front of the Justice Building right now, ready for the family interviews. Or maybe that happened a few hours ago. I don't know. I can't think straight.

_BOOM!_

Make that five families. Must have been one of the boys.

The interview is the same every year: Capitol clowns barging their way into your homes, dragging you to the City Square, flashing their fangs and howling in laughter at every broadcasted word you speak. Nobody in my family has ever gone into the Games so I've never had to personally do it myself, but the miracle a District Ten tribute does make it to the Final 8, I've seen how nerve wracking it can be up close. Families try to think of the right words to say to convince the Capitolites and the Gamemakers to keep their child alive. Talk their kid up to the audience. Mention how strong he is, how she'll make the perfect Victor once she wins. All the while keeping their composure on national television. Who in my family is trying to boost me up to for the Capitol's favor? Probably Papi, or Baldomar. Both are the stronger ones of the family. Most likely Mami and Jacinta are too choked up to say anything and Ricardo is, well, Ricardo.

The death recap is on. Four tributes today. There hasn't been this much since the first bloodbath. Valor is first, Penelope second. So both girls are still alive. Then the District Five girl who exploded is up next. Morgana is Runaway Bride's real name.

Was it Eli's cannon that fired?

I let out a disappointed sigh when the smiling, peaceful face of Isaiah pops up in the sky. He died right before the recap. They must have had to cut his family's interview short. To be honest, his death was for the best. Isaiah made a nonviolence vow at the Interviews. That right there told us how weak he was. Mentally, the Nine boy looked too far gone to be a proper Victor anyway.

Sleeping's not an option tonight. To fight it off, I busy myself with mindless activities. First I inspect the colored lights in every room, notice how much they shine or how they're installed into the ceiling. When that gets boring I count out the number of flowers or shapes or stars on the patterned walls. My shoes serve as entertainment eventually, trying to find the best way to tie them. At one point I zip and unzip my jacket for a solid 23 minutes. I know the exact number. I counted.

As long as I'm not babbling to myself or laughing at nothing, I know I'm still Giovanni. They can take my safety away but I'll be damn if my sanity goes along with it.

I gotta stay awake. I can't go to sleep.

I still have five bars left, plenty to last me for days. I'm torn on what to do. The rational part of me knows that I've already consumed a dangerous amount of energy bars. Taking another risk might cost me my life when I've made it so far. The other part of me, the reckless side, thinks what harm could be done if I eat a few more? I could go to sleep and never wake up again. Only five of us are left now, inside this one building. It'd be easy for the others to find me. Besides, the Gamemakers will construct something to drive us together eventually.

Mouth watering before I can fully open it (or as best it can with the lack of moisture), I take quick little nibbles of a bar. It doesn't matter how hungry or thirsty I am. The same rules still apply: Pace myself.

* * *

><p>I fell asleep. Sometime during the night I dosed off and was left wide open for anyone or anything to attack. Angry with myself, I hurriedly rub and stretch the sleepiness away, annoyed every time I let out a yawn or a blink lasts longer than a second. How thirsty I was yesterday doesn't compare to how I am today. My tongue is drier than the desert dirt, not to mention the dizziness from before is starting again. If these Games don't end soon…<p>

From the little food that's managed to survive this long, I make breakfast. Nuts and an apple, no doubt altered by the Capitol to live longer than it's supposed to. Fine dining to me. Slurping up all the juice I can possibly get from the apple, I hear footsteps pounding outside the room. They're uncoordinated. From someone trying to survive rather than hunt. But what's got them so scared? A tribute? A trap?

I suddenly realize that whether they know it or not, they're coming towards _my_ room. Why send them to me? What have I done? Then it dawns on me that what I've done isn't the problem, it's what I _haven't_ done that's gotten me in this situation.

Thirteen days in the Hunger Games and I haven't killed a single tribute. Directly that is.

Every death I've been involved in, someone else have done it. Koring pushed me down, Radiance speared him. Creek tried to strangle me, the derma diggers torn him alive. The only two kills that could somewhat be contributed to me were Orazio's and Virgo's and both times I just set them up. Trapped Orazio outside, struck Virgo with the whip. Chiffon was the one who dealt the final blow. There isn't anyone to do the dirty work now and the Gamemakers won't intervene. It's time to prove myself, show them why I should, no, will win. It was the spirit I had going into this thing.

So who's the next victim?

Our eyes meet the moment he steps through the doorway. Mine with glee. His with dread.

Perfect.

He goes for the door. Locked shut. Just one of us will get out alive.

Turning around, Eli stutters, at a loss for what to say. His winning smile turns on, back still glued to the door. The Six boy's a dirty mess, dried oil and specks of blood on his shirt, jacket gone, shoelaces barely tied. "Hey Giovanni. N-nice to see you again."

He lets out a small whimper when he sees my whip uncoil to the ground. I smile back, greeting him as friendly as can be. "Very nice to see you again too, _amigo_. How've you been?"

"Better."

Chuckling, I lay done the sarcasm. "Well I'm so happy to see you kiddo. Haven't spoke since you left me to die. Funny how things work out, huh?"

A nervous laugh escapes his lips. "Yeah, I agree." A look of doubt forms on his face. Then, hope. "Say, how about me and you ally together? We can be a team! Buddies! Brains and brawn. Six and-"

"An alliance? Even if I was stupid enough to seal my own coffin, it's too late in the Games for that. You see the Career Alliance is gone." Most of it anyway. Lifting up my arm, the whip slithers through the air. Eli dodges it in time for it to crack the fluorescent blue wallpaper instead of his face, crouching to the ground golden dagger he got from Chiffon in hand. Hm, he's faster than I thought. Some fight in him too.

There's no time to waste so I get right to it. "Why did you do it?"

He doesn't need me to say anymore. The innocent, airheaded smile he's constructed since Training has transformed into a look so fierce, so unlike the Eli I've come to know I curse the small shiver my body gives out. "Get off your fucking high horse and smell the roses, Ten. This is the Hunger Games. You either get with the program or die. Your holier-than-thou attitude makes me sick." He laughs, snarling at me with the look of pure rage in his eyes.

Giving me a quizzical stare, he immediately shakes his head in disgust. "You've been eating the Vroom! Vroom! Bars haven't you? No wonder you've been able to live this long. What the miracles of science can produce! Negating any type of illness and ailment to your body. But what I "forgot" to explain is why you shouldn't eat so many of them besides the addictive features. You were poisoned days ago and no doubt have been taking the bars ever since. How many have you eaten, District Ten?"

I hesitate. Should I answer him truthfully or give a lie? "Four. Why?"

Eli sucks his teeth, head shaking like a disappointed parent to a child. "You eat anymore and your body will go into shock. You'll overdose, or the poison will set in soon. Eventually death will occur if immediate medical attention isn't received."

What do I say to that? You're right? Help me? I won't let him have the upper hand, distract me with his lies. "Shut up! You're just trying to intimidate me."

"Am I doing a good job at it Giovanni?" Leaning against the wall, he thinks he can relax now that he's got me where he wants me. "Maybe you do need me in order to tell you how to live."

…He's right. I've just been guessing how many bars to intake, experimenting on my body. Eli could be telling the truth. I should listen to him.

Wait, what am I saying? Even if he did tell me how to live, I wouldn't survive long enough to use the method. The choice has already been made for me.

"You're the one that poisoned the water then," I say, pointing my finger accusingly to his slouched figure.

Shrugging like we're not about to fight to the death, the brown-haired boy is as calm as can be. "Actually, no I didn't. That was all Sofia's doing. I had no idea about that little deed. My plan was for you to die from the energy bar overdose. Or, seeing how well you guys got along, have you and Chiffon kill each other. The odds were simply in my favor."

Well don't I look like an idiot. He's been planning against us all this time. I stare in disbelief at how well-calculated everything was. The smirk playing on his lips is aggravating. "What is it, Giovanni? Surprised to see stupid little Eli so brave, fighting for his life? Guys, we gotta search through this building some more. Orazio's coming for us, help! I'm so scared! Protect me Chiffon!" he mocks himself, pleased that he's done such a good job at the role he crafted. "Surprise, surprise! I was convincing wasn't I Ten? Thought you would be able to take me out just like that. Please!"

So it was all an act. The way he acted so polite and ditzy during Training and his Interview, then appeared weaker and stupider than he really was, avoiding fights and hiding behind Chiffon throughout the way. All of it a lie. The cowardly boy from District Six wasn't so worthless as we all thought. Eli fooled the whole country, tried to perform his way to victory. Not the first time it's happened, but definitely one of the best I've seen.

I'm impressed.

But where does fact separate from fiction? "You never did like Chiffon, did you?"

"The only girl I _love_ is back in Six waiting for me to come home to her." With that, he faces the cameras, giving them a sympathetic look. "Melanie, if you're watching this know that this isn't the real me. I'm coming home soon to prove it to you. I promised."

A girlfriend back in Six? "You're…you're sick!" I utter, outraged by the boy's confession. "What you did to Chiffon was despicable! Think about your blind sister. Would she want to know what you did? Does she actually exist?"

"I would never lie about Natasha!" suddenly screams Eli, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I never wanted to kill either of them! It was all to get back to my family. My strategy was my intellect. What's so wrong about that? The Careers use their fists and weapons to kill their competition. Chiffon was the perfect candidate: young, pretty, skilled but a non-Career. Vulnerable. Don't give me a lecture on ethics or what's right or wrong because you know you would do the same thing in a heartbeat."

Once again he's right. Between my life or someone else's, the choice would be simple. Changing the subject and putting the conversation back to him, I question him on what he mentioned earlier. "Them?"

"Chiffon and Sofia. I killed them both. Chiffon was a good girl, really, she was. Sofia too. They didn't deserve to die, none of them did. But these are the circumstances we're put in Giovanni," Eli goes for the pathetic woe-is-me act. "That's life. Should I die because I can't fight? What makes my life less worthy of living?"

"Because you killed them with evil intentions! You liar!" Again, Eli escapes my blow, whip just about slashing through his chest. This time, the Six boy charges towards me, swiping away with the dagger. I easily dodge each and every clumsy strike, dancing about the room. Hitting his nose with the butt of the whip, I'm confident in me winning. Like Eli said, he's not a fighter in the least bit.

"Coward! You're less than a man," I tell him, avoiding a kick to the side and a stab at the waist. How I wish I didn't lose the sickle in the fight with Creek. My fist slams into his eye and he's sent back. Another fist hits the fourteen-year-old's stomach and he leans forward, struggling to breath.

"Need some help _amigo?_" I send my foot into his jaw. Eli is thrown straight up into the air and crashes down on the ground, eyes wide with fear.

Stumbling as he rise, a spit of blood lands on my jacket. I brush the blemish off with one swift motion. A last attempt to insult me, he calls me something I can never forgive him for. "Idiot. You wouldn't comprehend what I'm talking about if it was laid out in front of you, you filthy shit eater."

I lose it then. Eli makes the mistake of coming for me again and I let loose all the pent up frustration that's been held up inside me for so. He doesn't see it coming, ducking too late to avoid my wrath. Once a deep gash appears on his forehead, I see in his eyes that he knows it's over. Over two weeks of bitterness and rage is unleashed on the boy. It's comforting, incredible actually. I like not having to hold back anymore, to release all the physical and mental suffering I've been through. Again and again and again the whip cracks all over his body, making the fourteen-year-old holler out for mercy, begging for his mother, father, Melanie, anyone to save him.

I like the blood. I like the sound of the whip tearing up his skin. I like his screams. I like the thrill I get from killing Eli.

I'm so lost in the moment and reveling in the pleasure that by the time I finally come to, Eli is nothing more than a figure whimpering to be put out of its misery, unrecognizable under the gashes and swelling. Horrified by what I've done, I take his dagger, long discarded after the first crack struck him, and sink it into the beaten fourteen-year-old's chest and claim his weapon.

Just like that I'm the only one left standing from our alliance.

_BOOM! _

An alarm sounds throughout the entire tower and everything turns red. The purple robes couldn't wait for me to kill Eli. 'Let's bring on the main event' they say.

By instinct I'm out into the hallway, a nearby hovercraft heard behind me. Looking down below, strange rods of lights slowly fill up the darkened first floor, then the second. Are those…lasers? From a distance I hear some sort of struggle go on before a door burst open and someone moves loudly through the stairwells. This time I don't need a cue to run and instantly I'm flying through the steel staircases, leaping from level to level. Really Gamemakers, more running? Can you give a guy a break?

The lasers are moving faster now, encouraging us to hurry up. They're not real threats. Too many tributes have died from Gamemaker traps already. The audience won't like it if we don't give them a proper show. The final fight must always be one to remember. But where exactly are we supposed to go? I've been running through the levels for a while now. I hear the others but don't see them. There must be other staircases in the tower then. Stopping to take a breath, it's a quick break when I see the lasers just a level down.

Three levels more and I'm at the top. No more stairs, just a door in front of me. Now what?

Rushing to open it, the smoky air greets me to the outside. We're on top of the tower. Almost identical to the one I met Rhapsody on at the night before the Games began, there is little to hide behind. Save a few unfamiliar silver objects, the same ones on the Training Center rooftop, scattered throughout, it's a vast, open field perfect for a showdown. Out below the Arena which once had twelve buildings and bombs blasting every minute is now only an endless void of gray. Far away, Domitia and Radiance is in one corner of the rooftop, on guard and springing to attack a running Valentino when my arrival interrupts their kill. As the wolves lock eyes on their new prey, the Seven boy shrinks away behind a steel pipe, shielding himself from danger.

Now I'm their target.

Dammit.

"Radiance," Domitia snaps her fingers at the One girl, hand open as they charge towards me. "Give me your weapon. We only have one arrow left. Let's take this fool down quickly."

While the brunette grabs something out of her jacket pocket, Domitia takes the opportunity to gloat and intimidate me. I can't say the ugly woman isn't doing a good job. I run around and around the rooftop, frantically trying to find a place to hide. No such luck. Every structure is behind them, meaning I'd have to get past the Careers in order for that to happen.

"We've wasted far too much time on you, boy. Embarrassing me _and_ killing off two of my Careers? We'll see who has the last laugh when I slaughter you like the stupid pig you are, District T-"

One moment the Two woman is shouting insults from across the field, leaping towards her prey, eager to please the Capitol. The next moment both her and Radiance stand unnaturally still, silenced, as if struck by something. When I see Domitia's tall frame jut forward and Radiance stumble back from the force, a small hole appears in the dark-skinned woman's abdomen and she falls to her knees. Blood flows from her wound, staining her shirt and pants, seeping to the floor. Sword painted in red marking her the culprit, Radiance looks down at her ally, momentarily stunned by what she has just committed.

"N-n-never s-saw that coming," Domitia struggles to talk through the blood gushing out of her mouth, her laugh sounding like a gargle for help. "Guess I-I-I was the fool then, huh? You win District One."

"I'm sorry," is all she whispers.

_BOOM!_

Using the final exchange between the two Careers and the sound of the hovercraft to my advantage, I've just inched myself behind a structure when Radiance snaps out of her trance and notices me getting away. Hitting the metal with her sword, I would have been skewered by her weapon had I not moved out of the way in time. Rolling away and up on my knees, the world spins a bit as I try to regain my balance, dehydration coming on strong.

In her Interviews, Radiance looked, well, radiant. Dress, shoes, hair, and makeup set to perfection, transforming a lowly district dweller into a flawless plaything for the Capitol men to devour. But now, the teenager looks unrecognizable. Every piece of clothing she has on has been damaged in some way, one jacket sleeve torn off, pants and shirt dirty, ripped in several areas. Her hair is wild and going all angles, parts of it matted down or sticking up into the air. Blood from Penelope, Valor, and every other tribute's death she's caused covers her from head to toe. It should be a reminder of what she's done, how much pain she has brought upon herself. Radiance herself has a few injuries from previous fights. I notice a deep cut in her arm and leg, not to mention the slight limp she walks with. What tops her appearance is the crazed, glazed-over look in her eyes. Mentally she looks like she's gone to the loony bin and back.

I probably look the same way.

Maybe I can distract her with my words, make her lose her concentration and go wild. Then I could win and go home. "My, my. What has happened to my pretty little fiancée?" I tease, stumbling backwards as she advances forward.

Besides the fury ready to leap out and tear me to pieces, another emotion is behind those angry brown eyes. Exhaustion. Radiance looks worn out, leaning against her elaborate sword, ready to just end it all. For a second it seems like the girl wouldn't care who won, just as long as she got to rest. My satisfied smirk is wiped off before I can speak when she gets up from her leaning position and sprint towards me. The surprise attack catches me completely off-guard, allowing me time to swing out of the sword's way to catch on my arm instead of my chest. I holler out at the raw pain shooting through the area and look to see red flowing freely from the deep wound. I can only be thankful it was my left arm and not my right arm, the dominant one. Still, the injury hurts like hell.

Now it's her turn to enjoy the moment. "I don't have time to chit-chat with you. Fight me so I can finish this up. The Games are almost over. I just want to go home." The desperate note in her voice makes me falter for a bit. Radiance sounds so…pitiful. I shouldn't enjoy degrading her so much. I go to reconsider insulting her any more then think again. Why feel sorry for a Career? This One girl is about to _kill_ me. Calling her nasty names and making accusations doesn't compare to what she can do to me. Will do to me.

"Don't worry. You'll go home soon, and when I stop by your district on my Victory Tour I'll make sure to tell your parents just how brave you were before I killed their daughter."

Sending her sword down again, Radiance tries to ready her bow but I knock it out of her hands with my whip, dragging it towards me. I'm no use at the thing so I send it over the edge of the rooftop. There's no point in wasting precious time figuring out how to set up the damn arrow when the Career is this close to me. Infuriated by me taking her favored weapon, she comes at me even harder. Even with the injuries and limp, Radiance is _fast_. Her strikes and spins still hold a level of grace and technique I could never imagine to have. She is determined to win. But I'm no clumsy cow myself. Through the immense pain, I force myself to match her strides, stepping or leaping out of the way of her sword or blocking the hits with the dagger I stole from Eli. The girl's too close and too quick for me to properly use my whip. By the time I send my arm back to strike my cannon would go off.

"_Mamacita_ you want a divorce already? Such a short marriage," I say. Another hit to the injured arm. That shuts me up.

"You would never in your life be able to touch, taste, or get _any_ of this District Ten. A wolf for the Opening Ceremonies? Try a sheep, like your district partner," says the crazed brunette.

We're at it once again, spinning and twirling and waltzing around the metal rooftop. Throughout the fight I get a vague sense that I'm forgetting something important but I decide to think on it later, focusing all of my attention on defeating the Career. Cuts and gashes have been made on the both of us but no finishing blows. When her diamond-studded sword springs forward, I meet it with the tip of the golden dagger.

We've come to a standstill, both of us pressed against one another, daring the other to give up.

Radiance may be trained and have the bigger weapon yet my brute strength does her in. Her eyes tell me all, filled with panic and desperation. Slowly, she gets weaker and weaker as her legs get lower and lower to the floor. Seconds later, her knees hit the ground hard. She's still holding on strong though, not giving up until the very end. Gritting my teeth ready for her to tire out, a leg pops from under her kneel and I'm sent forward. Radiance's blade just about severs my head straight off my shoulders before I leap back to my original position. Except the tip of my nose wasn't saved, blood spilling through the small spot the tip used to be located. Letting out an outraged gasp, I get up the nerve to launch my whip into the air and let it go crashing down on Radiance's skin. She scores her hits, a slash on my forehead and a stab in my calf but my strike was effective. Very effective.

Howling as the leather shreds her skin off, I wrap the blood-soaked whip around her arm and yank forward, dislocating the One girl's shoulder. Tears fall from her face but the grip on her sword is still strong. My foot connects with her jaw, followed by a fist to the nose. Through the blood running down the cut on my forehead, I see Radiance stumbling back in an attempt to regain her footing. I don't allow her the pleasure, sending my whip down twice more and wrapping it around the girl's leg, crashing her into the metal floor. The girl's prized sword finally falls from her grasp and I crush her wrist with my foot, knocking her head to the side with my other foot. No way will she grab for it now.

I look down at all the good work I've done. If I thought she looked bad before, she looks horrible now. A Career adored for her beauty and coy mystique is so bruised and beat up that the poorest District Twelve girl wouldn't want to look like her. Sobbing freely now, tears mix with blood as she realize that she has lost the fight. I shake my head and wring my finger in her face, basking in the glory of defeating a Career Tribute. All that training and all those years of dedication to lose to a scared kid from District Ten. Useless.

Struggling to hold her down, I'm quick in my movements.

This is it.

All I have to do is kill her and I win!

Eagerly bringing down my dagger, Radiance eyes go wide as she sees death coming for her. Right before the knife strikes her heart, the teenager lets out one soft plea.

"Papa, _je suis désolé_. Forgive me."

_BOOM!_

I stand, wobbling a bit from the leg wound. But I don't notice it. I don't notice anything. The pain, the blood, the injuries, the dizziness, the dryness in my throat, the way my vision blurs, or the weakness in my body. Because I've won.

I've won the Hunger Games.

I've won the Hunger Games!

But where are the trumpets? The fanfare? Claudius Templesmith?

Turning around, I see it flying through the air. So fast, so quick, like the bullet from a Peacekeeper's gun. Heavy too. Who would have known the Games would end this way? I thought I won this thing, thought I'd make it out of here alive. Guess not. The Arena is truly full of surprises.

When the blade of the axe hits me, I close my eyes, preparing for death to come. _Will it be quick?_ I wonder.

But it never does come.

Instead of embedding itself in my head, the axe only grazes the side of my face, taking off skin and my ear with it. Flailing around in agony, I grab at the exposed part of my face, feeling gooey tissue and muscle where the skin used to be. Nothing makes sense. I only understand the indescribable pain I'm in. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm screaming. It's only when I see Valentino trying to open the door to the stairwell is when I realize what's going on.

Valentino tried to kill me. His plan failed. I'm still in the Games.

I'm still in the Games.

Sprinting with all my might, I leap towards the Seven boy. The raven-haired teen tries to block my attack but he's too panicked to defend himself and I'm too enraged to lose.

"Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!" he yells, scurrying around the bare rooftop. I pummel into him, sending him crashing into the railing. Putting all my weight on top of him, I hear something crack and Valentino lets out a pained wheeze. My blade rakes against his neck and only when I hear his cannon do I stop stabbing him.

_BOOM!_

This time, the trumpets blare and the audience claps for my victory. "Ladies and Gentlemen! I am pleased to present the Victor of the Sixty-First Hunger Games, Giovanni Del Rojo! I give you—the male tribute of District Ten!"

The hovercraft draining out the sounds and flying me away, I don't take my glare off of Valentino. I don't dare to. I'm waiting, waiting for him to get back up, to try to steal my win again.

But he won't, because I'm the Victor of the Sixty-First Hunger Games.

* * *

><p><strong>That's all folks! Roulette has come to an end everyone. But don't fret; if you're dismayed by the idea of never seeing Giovanni again, think again. I have two (possibly three if I break up the last fanfic, which I probably will) more stories detailing Mr. Del Rojo's life after the Arena and the general world I've constructed based on Suzanne Collins's imagination. To give you a glimpse of what's all to come:<strong>

**-Recovery and the internal consequences of winning**

**-The life of a Capitolite**

**-What it means to be a Victor**

**-Giovanni and Rhapsody's relationship and the fusion of District and Capitol mentalities**

**-Continuing relationships with his District family, friends, and HG family**

**-Exploration into the lives of Esteban and Yesenia**

**-Giovanni during the 62nd HG, 69th HG, and the 74th HG**

**-Giovanni's role in the rebellion and his opinion on Little Miss Everdeen and her boytoy**

**Before that all occurs, I'm in the process of working on a companion fic titled A Deck of 24. I've told a few of you about my idea, but for those of you who don't know, this story will showcase the lives of the 24 tributes that participated in the 61st Hunger Games. It should begin sometime early April (late March if don't get distracted) so be on the lookout for it!**


End file.
